


my bones have found a place

by bottlefamebrewglory



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Marauders' Era, Slow Burn, Slytherin Harry Potter, Time Travel, not really marauder friendly for the most part sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-04-26 19:46:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14409330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottlefamebrewglory/pseuds/bottlefamebrewglory
Summary: “Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said, “tell me what year it is, please.”Harry’s frown deepened. Maybe Dumbledore had somehow actually gone batty since the last time Harry had seen him?“1996, sir. May.”“I see. And if I were to tell you that it is in fact 1976?”Harry laughed. “1976?”“In two days,” Dumbledore allowed. “You see, today’s date is December 29, 1975.”harry goes through the veil in ootp. stuck in his parents' time, surrounded by familiar strangers, he struggles to find his way back to his own time even as he tries to keep anyone from finding out who he really is. severus, suspicious and deeply uncertain about this new potter, is not so great about letting harry keep his secrets.





	1. losing time

**Author's Note:**

> so i LOVE time travel fics. i love them. but despite reading all of them i could get my hands on and being in this fandom for basically fifteen years, i've never tried my hand at writing one before. but a while back i was thinking on the veil & wondering if anyone actually KNEW that it was a door to death & basically had myself an entire story idea before i knew what i was doing. i know this idea has been done a thousand and a half times but i really wanted to write my own version - as much to follow this idea as to work out my own frustration with fandom perception of the marauder era
> 
> which, of course, brings me to something very important: i have a lot (a LOT) of issues with the teenage marauders. they will not come through this story looking that great. so if you're a big fan of them or can't handle criticism of them, please hit the back button & find a story more to your tastes. and if you continue to read, you can't say i didn't warn you so i'll be deleting any comments that complain about the negative portrayal of the marauders. i promise there isn't outright bashing - but i do think that many of the marauders' actions need to be looked at in a harsher light. the same kind of goes for lily evans.
> 
> as for warnings - this is set during war-time, so there will likely be at least book-level violence and prejudice. if i get any more specific than that, i'll be sure to warn in author's comments beforehand and tag.

_The Liminal Veil is something of an oddity. Created in 1592 by Charles Percival Wentworth Yates III, its true powers remain a mystery. Yates intended for it to be a gateway between the world of the living and the world of the dead, desperate to avenge his murdered wife. Yates spent years constructing the Veil, to the point of obsessiveness as he became elderly, but the Veil was never stable enough to work properly. Current academic research suggests that this instability originally stemmed from a lack of access to necromantic texts and improperly applied wards—Yates, a hedgewitch with little formal education, never had the proper tools to construct the Veil safely. Indeed, with these flaws, the Veil could never function as a doorway between our world and the world of the dead. Instead, Yates created a dangerous cursed object; one that eventually took Yates life after its completion in 1603. Reports say that he was drawn to the Veil in an almost hypnotic fashion. Only days after he finished its construction, he disappeared through it and was never seen again. His students and family assumed that he had joined his wife in the afterlife._

_The Veil stood for many years on the abandoned Yates estate, too dangerous to move safely. For years, there were reports of people hearing the voices in the Veil and walking through its doorway; none were ever seen again. There were talks of trying to destroy the Veil but ultimately it proved impossible; the instability of its creation would have decimated any wizard who attempted to destroy it and nonmagical means left no mark. For nearly one hundred years, it stood abandoned and unnoticed except by the most curious of academics. It wasn’t until the creation of the Department of Mysteries and the passing of the Unattended Necromatic Objectics bill in 1700 that the Veil was brought back to public attention. Under the observation of trained Unspeakables, the Veil was transported to the Ministry and it has remained in the care and study of the Department of Mysteries ever since._

_Despite the extensive study done by Unspeakables—study that cost at least five researchers their lives—the Veil has yielded few of its secrets. While it is clear that it is a doorway to somewhere, it is impossible to say where. Many theories have been put forward: some argue that it functions as Yates intended and sends its victims to the land of the dead while others make a case for time travel or, put forward by one particularly reckless academic, dimensional travel. However, none of the Veil’s victims have ever returned once the Veil has captured them in its thrall and without testimony, all theories cannot be proved or disproved—and indeed, may never be proved conclusively at all…_

A Brief History of Mysterious Objects _(1981) by Rigellus Rutherford_

* * *

___“SIRIUS!” Harry yelled. “SIRIUS!”_

_He had reached the floor, his breath coming in searing gasps. Sirius must be just behind the curtain, he, Harry, would pull him back out…_

_But as he reached the ground and sprinted towards the dais, Lupin grabbed Harry around the chest, holding him back._

_“There’s nothing you can do, Harry—”_

_“Get him, save him, he’s only just gone through!”_

_“—it’s too late, Harry.”_

_“We can still reach him—” Harry struggled hard and viciously, but Lupin would not let go…” (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix)_

* * *

 

“Harry, he’s—”

Harry broke free of Lupin’s grip. He felt hands scrabble at his elbows, try to catch him around the waist, but he ignored them. All he could see was the Veil. He had to go through it, he had to go after Sirius, he had to _save Sirius_ —He ran, panting. The Veil whispered to him. He couldn’t make out what it was saying, but it didn’t matter. If Sirius had gone through that doorway, so would Harry. Nothing would stop him.

“Harry! Harry, _no_ —!”

Harry passed through the shadowy curtain of the Veil just as Remus howled out his name. His last thought before darkness overtook him was Remus sounded as if someone had just ripped out his own heart.

* * *

It was dark.

He was alone and cold. He knew he was going somewhere but he couldn’t remember where or why it was so important. He couldn’t remember his name. He was sure he had one but it eluded him. Why was he here, in the dark and the cold? He needed to go somewhere. Somewhere important. No, not somewhere. He was looking for some _one_. But who? He closed his eyes and tried to force his mind to focus. Who? _Who_?

He couldn’t remember. Desperation rose and he opened his mouth. He would yell. He would _scream_ —

* * *

Harry Potter opened his eyes.

It took him a long moment of staring up at the star-studded sky to remember who he was. Even longer to remember why he shouldn’t be looking at _any_ sky right now. He surged up, but his body protested so fiercely that he heaved into the grass, gasping for breath. His vision spun but he forced himself to stay awake, stay aware. He didn’t want to pass out, not when he had no idea where he was. He’d had plenty of practice forcing his body to do what he wanted despite being dizzy or sick when he lived with the Dursleys—Aunt Petunia had never cared that he was about to faint with hunger when she demanded her rose garden be pruned.

Harry took several careful, deep breaths. The world stopped spinning and he felt less like vomiting. When he felt less like he was going to pass out he risked a look around.

He was in a clearing, a bare spot in the middle of knobbly, tall trees. A forest. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he might even be in the Forbidden Forest. He’d never seen trees like that anywhere else. But how had he _gotten_ there? And… He looked up and breathed out, frowning as his breath fogged. It was much colder than it should be, even for a Scottish May. He didn’t know what had happened when he’d gone through the Veil but something was wrong. He needed to figure out what was going on and _fast_.

Standing took more effort than he’d expected, but he managed to pull himself upright without vomiting again so he counted it as a success. Looking down, he realized he was still in the clothes he’d worn in the Department of Mysteries, and he still had his wand tucked into the waistband of his jeans. Harry relaxed a little. He didn’t know where he was, but at least he wasn’t completely helpless. He drew out his wand and took comfort in its familiar warm weight.

“Point Me Hogwarts,” he muttered.

His voice was hoarse and ragged, but his wand spun as it should, pointing North. Harry stuck it back in his waistband and began his journey. Walking was almost too difficult—he staggered into trees, using them as props to hold him up when his knees felt too weak. He had to sit down several times to catch his breath. He still wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, but he felt like he’d be run over by a herd of threstals.

It was bitterly cold. Harry was grateful for the thin sweatshirt he was wearing, but soon even that wasn’t enough to keep the persistent chill at bay. He began to shiver, teeth chattering. By the time he reached the edge of the forest, the chill seemed to be set in his bones. He couldn’t feel his hands, though he rubbed them constantly as he walked.

Despite the strange weakness of his body and the worrying cold, he relaxed when he saw Hogwarts. Since he’d first arrived there as a child, despite all the dangers that plagued him during his school years, he’d always felt that nothing could truly harm him as long as he was at Hogwarts. It wasn’t like Privet Drive, where he always felt hunted and defensive, where the wrong word or action could earn him a slap around the ears or a week with only scraps for dinner. Hogwarts, even at its most and destructive, was _safe_. If Harry was there, everything would be okay.

The path down the Quidditch field to the castle was shorter than his trek through the forest had been, but it felt twice as long without the protection of the trees from the wind. By the time he collapsed in the inner entrance, Harry just wanted to sleep for a thousand years.

But he couldn’t. He remembered going through the Veil, the whole mess at the Ministry. Sirius, falling— Harry closed his eyes and breathed, keeping the panic at bay. He’d followed. If he was here, Sirius had to be too. He’d probably gotten here before Harry, found his way to the castle. He would have gone straight to find Dumbledore, wouldn’t he?

Harry found himself oddly reluctant to see Dumbledore. Nothing like the strange anger and violence that had seized him when he’d last looked Dumbledore in the eye, but just a general desire to avoid the man as Dumbledore had been avoiding Harry all year. But if Sirius was there, Harry to go. He had to make sure Sirius was all right.

He dragged himself to his feet. The school was quiet, the lights dimmed. It had to be late. Harry made his way through the corridors without seeing anyone—not a ghost or Peeves or even Filch. It was so quiet that Harry began to feel deeply uneasy. Had something happened? Had Voldemort attacked? His breath caught. Without meaning to, he began to speed up until he was almost running through the halls, ignoring the stitch in his side and the way his legs burned. He could collapse _later_ , he told his body fiercely. First, he had to figure out what was going on.

The statue in front of Dumbledore’s office looked as it always did. Harry paused in front of it, catching his breath.

“Sugar Quills,” he said, which had been the password the last time he’d come up. But the statue didn’t move. “Bertie Bott’s. Lemon Drops. Fizzing Whizzbees. Chocolate Frogs.”

He tried the name of every kind of magical candy he’d ever heard then, in increasing desperation, the muggle ones. But the statue didn’t open. Frustrated, Harry hit the wall next to it hard enough to make his half-frozen hand sting.

“Damn, damn, damn,” he muttered.

Now what was he supposed to do? As far as he knew, this was the only way to get into the Headmaster’s Office. Perhaps he could go up to the Owlry and find an owl to send Dumbledore a message, let him know that Harry was here and let him up? But was Dumbledore even awake? Dismayed, Harry wondered if that was why the statue wouldn’t respond—maybe it locked down when Dumbledore went to sleep?

Harry rubbed his head. His legs were so weak and he was so _cold_. He needed to sit down. He picked a spot near the statue and slid to the floor, back against the wall. At least it was warmer inside Hogwarts. Pins and needles attacked his legs and hands as his body began to reach a normal temperature again. His eyes grew heavy. He needed to do something, make a plan, go to the Owlry or the Tower and find someone, _anyone_ who could tell him what was going on. But his body wouldn’t move. His eyes were so heavy...

* * *

“Oh my.”

Harry slid to awareness fuzzily, blinking several times. His entire body throbbed and his legs had gone numb. There was someone in a bright orange robe standing in front of him. Harry’s sleepy brain took a minute to realize it was Professor Dumbledore and another to remember why that was so important. Gasping, he struggled to his feet. But his legs were still weak from all the walking last night and from sitting on them for hours and he tripped, nearly falling on his face. Dumbledore caught him around the elbows and hauled him up.

“And just who might you be, young man?” Dumbledore asked, surveying him carefully from over his half-moon glasses, a look that Harry had seen many times before. But there wasn’t any kindness or affection in his expression, only wary suspicion. Harry realized, shocked, that Dumbledore didn’t recognize him.

Had his appearance changed somehow? Why wouldn’t Dumbledore know who he was?

“Professor, it’s me,” he said, grasping Dumbledore’s arm. “Harry? Harry Potter?”

Dumbledore frowned. “Potter, you say?”

Harry opened and closed his mouth, flummoxed. And then he looked at Dumbledore more closely and his stomach dropped. Dumbledore had never looked particularly fragile, but he’d been indisputably elderly. The man in front of Harry still looked older, but there were fewer lines on his face, and his hair was more gray than white. His glasses were different too; still the same shape, but they had a pale silver rim instead of the gold Harry was so used to. Harry’s panic mounted. What on Earth—?

“Professor, you’ve known me my whole life,” he said helplessly. “I’m _Harry_. Please, you’ve got to tell me what happened. Is Sirius here? Did the others make it back safely?”

Dumbledore stared at him. The suspicion had been wiped from his face, but the lack of expression was almost more unnerving. It gave Dumbledore’s usually gentle face a calculating edge. It reminded Harry that Dumbledore wasn’t just his kindly headmaster, a man he thought of as almost a grandfather, but a powerful wizard and war general. He shivered, unnerved, and took a step back, taking his hands off of Dumbledore’s arms. For a moment, he and Dumbledore regarded each other: Dumbledore thoughtful, Harry disoriented.

“Why don’t we go up to my office,” Dumbledore said at last. “I have a peculiar feeling this may be best discussed in private.”

* * *

Dumbledore’s office was different too. Harry sat down in the plush chair across his desk and looked around, feeling more and more lost. Fawkes’ perch was still in its usual place, but the trinkets on Dumbledore’s shelves were completely different. There was as bookcase near the entrance that hadn’t been there the last time Harry had visited and a tea service in one corner that Harry had never seen before.

Dumbledore sat down and steepled his hands under his chin. Harry shifted uncomfortably under his long look.

“Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said. “I must admit some confusion. You seem to be very well acquainted with me, but I do believe I have never seen you before in my life.”

Harry’s stomach bottomed out. How could Dumbledore not know him? What was _happening_?

“Sir,” he said, miserable and confused, “I’m—I don’t know what to tell you. I’m Harry. We met when I was eleven. I’ve been going to school here for five years, please, you have to know who I am. Isn’t Sirius here? Didn’t he tell you?”

“The only Sirius I know of,” Dumbledore said slowly, “is Sirius Black.” Harry’s relief was short-lived. “But as he is currently with his family for the holidays, I’m not sure why he would have told me anything.” Dumbledore adjusted his glasses. “Why don’t you explain to me how you came to be in the castle,” he said. “Perhaps we can figure out the source of the mystery together.”

Harry floundered, uncertain. He’d expected to find a Dumbledore who knew exactly what needed to be done. How was he supposed to explain everything that had led up to the events at the Ministry to a Dumbledore who didn’t seem to have any idea who Harry was?

“I was in the Department of Mysteries,” he said slowly. Dumbledore’s eyebrows shot up and Harry flushed. If this Dumbledore really didn’t know him, this story probably wasn’t going to make a good first impression. “I was there with friends, we were… looking for something important.” Did this Dumbledore know about the Prophecy? “We got caught by Death Eaters and they attacked us. Sirius came after us to help, but he—” Harry closed his eyes, seeing it again as if he was back in that room. “He fell through a—a veil. I’m not sure what it was, but he disappeared through it.” Harry saw it again, that terrible moment of Sirius falling, _falling_ — “And I followed him.”

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. His eyebrows were still raised.

“This veil,” he said after a long moment of consideration, “did it whisper to you?”

Harry blinked. “Yes.” How had he known?

Dumbledore let out a long breath through his teeth. “The Liminal Veil,” he murmured. “Is it really possible…?” Harry frowned as he stared off into the distance. “Mr. Potter,” he said, coming back into focus, “tell me what year it is, please.”

Harry’s frown deepened. Maybe Dumbledore had somehow actually gone batty since the last time Harry had seen him?

“1996, sir. May.”

“I see. And if I were to tell you that it is in fact 1976?”

Harry laughed. “1976?”

“In two days,” Dumbledore allowed. “You see, today’s date is December 29, 1975.”

Harry waited to hear a laugh, a punchline, but all Dumbledore did was stare at him. His heart thumped against his breastbone, oddly fast. 1976? That couldn’t—

“No,” he said. “No, that can’t be—that can’t be right. I followed Sirius! We went—well, I don’t know where we went, but there’s no way this is—”

He fell silent as Dumbledore reached into his desk and pulled out a copy of the Daily Prophet, setting it down in front of Harry. The date at the top matched what he said. Harry stared down at it. The front page was a story about the Ministry deliberations on outlawing certain dark magic. He thought he recognized the woman staring out of the photograph from his trial last summer, but she was much younger. Harry sat back, oddly numb.

1976?

“The Liminal Veil is a portal, of sorts,” Dumbledore said, ignoring Harry’s mounting panic. “But it is wildly unstable. The people who go through, we’ve never been able to definitively prove where they went. Some theorized that they had gone into the past… and you seem to be living proof of that theory.”

Harry couldn’t think about that right now. He tucked away his hysteria and panic and focused on the thing that truly mattered.

“But if I’m here, surely Sirius must be too!” Harry said. “Haven’t you seen him?”

Dumbledore looked very somber. “Mr. Potter… I’m afraid to tell you that what little research done on the Liminal Veil has concluded that it may very well send one person to one place… and one person to another. If your Sirius did indeed go on before you, he may have ended up in an entirely different time or…”

Harry found it difficult to breathe. He’d managed to hold on past his confusion and fear because he’d been sure, _so sure_ , that he’d be with Sirius soon and they could figure it out together. He didn’t want to believe what Dumbledore was saying, but he knew that if Sirius had landed in the same place Harry had, he would have come to Hogwarts too, looking for Harry just as Harry had looked for him. That he wouldn’t have rested until he made sure Harry was all right. If he wasn’t here… Harry swallowed.

“I have to find him,” he said. “Please, I have to—” A thought occurred to him and he grabbed it with both hands. “Can I go through the Veil again? It’s still in the Department of Mysteries, isn’t it?”

“That would be most inadvisable, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said. The coolness in his voice was unpleasant and unfamiliar. “You could certainly go through again, but there is even less guarantee that you will find yourself in the same place as your Sirius. And while time-travel has been a theory proposed for the Veil, many believe it leads to the land of the dead.”

Harry stood. He wanted to run out of the room, back to the forest, and pretend that he had just woken up again, that he could still find Sirius if he tried hard enough or walked far enough. But running away wouldn’t do him any good and wouldn’t make this farce he experiencing in any less real or immediate. Harry knew that intimately. Instead, he began to pace. He wished Hermione was here; she’d always been his best sounding board and he needed ideas, fast.

“If I go through,” he said after a long moment making dizzying circles in the carpet, mind furiously working, “can I end up back in my own time?”

“You may,” Dumbledore allowed. “But you also may not. The Veil is unstable, as I said. It could take you many tries to get back to your time—or you may never be able to.”

“What about using something other than the Veil?” Harry asked. “A Time-Turner?”

Dumbledore frowned. “Those are recent inventions, just created by the Department months ago,” he mused. “I suppose in your time they must become used enough to be more well-known? But no, a Time-Turner would not work—for one, the current model only sends one back in time, which I think you’ll agree isn’t much help for your predicament. But even if they were able to send one forward in time as well, they are only capable of hours of time travel, not years.” Dumbledore shook his head. “No, I’m afraid there isn’t any device capable of the kind of time-travel you need.”

Harry slammed his hand into the nearest wall. The trinkets on the nearby shelves shivered but didn’t fall. His hand throbbed.

“So I’m stuck,” he said, not looking at Dumbledore. “That’s what you’re saying. I’m trapped here.”

In _1976_ , years before any of his friends were even _born_. Tears prickled at the back of Harry’s eyes and he forced them back down. Crying wouldn’t help him. It had never helped him.

Dumbledore was silent for so long that Harry finally dared a peek. He looked uncommonly somber. Harry had really only seen that kind of gravitas on him once—when they’d learned that Voldemort had returned.

“Yes, my boy,” he said at last. “I’m afraid you are.”

* * *

They sat in silence for a long time. Eventually, Dumbledore summoned tea and breakfast for two. Harry ate half-heartedly at first but he began to scarf it down as his stomach remembered how hungry it was. Dumbledore watched in bemusement, drinking a cup of tea.

“Ah, to be young again!” he mused, sounding so like the Dumbledore Harry knew that Harry was overwhelmed with homesickness. He put his fork down. Dumbledore, noticing his sudden mood change, set his cup of tea aside as well.

“Now that our appetites are sated, I suppose it is time to discuss business,” he said. Harry stared at him apprehensively. “Nothing bad, my boy. But if you are indeed stranded here, then there are accommodations that need to be made. You have no identity in this time and no place to go. You said you were a student here? What year?”

“Fifth,” Harry said. “Well, sixth I suppose now. My fifth year just ended.”

He shivered, remembering the horrific dream during OWLs. He’d been so preoccupied with Sirius he hadn’t spared a thought for his friends. Had they made it safely out of the Department of Mysteries? If Harry had led them all in there and then abandoned them to get hurt…

“Hm,” Dumbledore said. “Second term will begin in a week, after the holidays. I would propose you join as a student. However, though you may have finished your fifth year, I would hardly want you to start your sixth mid-term… Perhaps you can join the fifth years? That would give you some time to acclimatize.”

Harry shrugged. He was finding it difficult to care, though normally he might have protested the indignity of having to re-do half a year’s worth of schoolwork as well as his OWLs. His mind was still on his friends. The Order had arrived, hadn’t they? Surely they would keep everyone safe. But Ron and Neville had been injured and Hermione had been in the thick of the duel and Ginny and Luna were both younger—

“Yes, yes, very good,” Dumbledore said, getting Harry’s attention back. “Now, as to your name and background—well, we can hardly tell the school the truth, as you might imagine. You’d be overrun. However, your appearance is too clearly a Potter’s to concoct a flimsy lie…”

Harry perked up a little, drawn out of his dark musings on his friends’ fates. “What?”

Dumbledore smiled at him. “The Potters are certainly recognizable,” he said. “Most pureblood families are. Even if you had not told me, I might have guessed. That hair!” Harry reached up to smooth at his hair self-consciously, but Dumbledore only laughed. “Anyone who looks at you is going to guess what family you’re from and we might have an easier time of it if we allow their suspicions to be correct.”

Harry frowned. "A _lie_ , you mean?"

Dumbledore didn't seem to notice his unease. “Precisely. Reginald Potter was a bit of a cad if I remember correctly—he was involved in several scandals with married women and there were always a few rumors about him floating around. He died several years ago, but it wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility that he fathered a son—perhaps with a muggleborn woman?”

Harry couldn't place that name. “Reginald?”

“You don’t know him?” Dumbledore asked. “Well, perhaps… He was Charlus Potter’s brother.” When Harry just blinked, the name basically nothing to him, Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed. “James Potter’s uncle?”

Harry sat up so quickly he knocked the teapot off Dumbledore’s desk.

“I see,” Dumbledore said, but Harry barely heard him.

Why hadn’t he realized when Dumbledore had mentioned another Sirius Black? His _parents_ were here! Young, whole, alive, and—Harry did some quick mental math—in the middle of their fifth year at Hogwarts. Not dating yet, according to Remus and Sirius, but _alive_. Harry’s heart began to thud against his breastbone in hard, irregular beats. If he stayed, he could meet them. If he stayed… could he _save_ them? Hermione had lectured him on the dangers of time traveling, but how could he just sit by and let his parents get murdered again?

“Sir,” Harry said slowly. “I don’t want to mess everything up. But there are some things… some things I think you need to know.”

Dumbledore regarded him solemnly over his half-moon glasses. “We are diving into undiscovered territory together, Mr. Potter,” he said. “As far as I am aware—and considering the vessel that brought you here, it’s entirely possible that my own awareness is limited—there have been no other cases of long-term time travel. Knowing the future may help prevent undesirable events or may simply make things incredibly worse.”

Harry deflated. “So you don’t think I should do anything? I should just… sit by and let it all happen?”

He didn’t think he could do that, not when it was his parents on the line. Merlin, and _Sirius_ —! He might not have been able to save his own Sirius Black, but this one was still free and happy, and if Harry could prevent him from going to Azkaban this time around…

“What I’m saying, my boy,” Dumbledore said, “is, considering the delicacy of the operation it would be prudent to proceed _cautiously_. Does anything you wish to prevent happen soon?”

Harry thought it over. Almost everything he wanted to stop—his parent’s death, Sirius’ imprisonment, Pettigrew’s betrayal—happened years from now. He reluctantly shook his head. Dumbledore sighed.

“In that case, my suggestion is to start small. We will introduce you as a lost Potter, reclaimed and ready to be educated at Hogwarts. You will be sorted. The people you know in the future, you may get to know them now, but I would advise against telling them about your true circumstances. Try changing small things in the past events that you know of. If that doesn’t cause any major catastrophes, perhaps we can try something bigger.”

Harry nodded, chewing the inside of his mouth. The problem was that he knew so _little_ about this time period. Sirius had shared some stories, but all of it was vague. The most concrete thing he knew was that his father and the others had already become animagi. What else was there? He thought hard, trying to comb through what he remembered of Sirius’ stories. Finding out Remus was a werewolf, when his mum and dad started dating, a bunch of stories about the pranks they used to play—

Harry froze. The _pranks_.

1976\. Fifth year. They had just taken their OWLs, hadn’t they? Harry shivered. In five months time, James Potter would offer a jeering crowd a free look at Snape’s underwear. Merlin. Seeing it as a memory had been bad enough. Harry didn’t know how he’d be able to endure it in person. But it was the only thing he knew would happen this year, the only possible concrete landmark he had.

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry startled. Dumbledore surveyed him and smiled.

“Shall we get the most pressing issue out of the way, then? We can get you settled in a dormitory once you’ve been sorted.”

“I’m a Gryffindor,” Harry said, glancing automatically at the Hat in its corner.

“In your time, perhaps,” Dumbledore said. “But no student may stay at Hogwarts unless they’ve been properly sorted and as far as the Hat is aware, you never have been. So just pop it on and we’ll be on our way.”

Harry frowned, but Dumbledore was already reaching for the Hat and offering it to him. Harry picked it up and put it on his head a little gingerly. He half-expected a sword to fall out of it again.

 _“Ah,”_ the Hat said. After his failed Occlumency lessons, having the Hat’s voice in his head was even more unnerving.It was almost as if Harry could _feel_ its presence. _“How interesting! Time travel is such a wild and unstable form of magic, it’s amazing you landed even moderately close to your own time! And entirely in one piece as well! Rowena posited it could be done, but she thought it would cause too much damage to the body to ever try. Most peculiar. And your parents are here as well, aren’t they? My, my.”_

Had the Hat talked this much last time? “Can you get on with it?” he asked out loud.

He thought he heard a muffled sound from Dumbledore’s direction, but the Hat’s brim was pulled too low to check.

The Hat sounded petulant now. _“No need to get snippy, Mr. Potter. I so rarely get to talk to someone outside of Sortings, you know! And as dear as Albus is, even his company gets tiring after so many years. Now, let’s see…”_ Harry shivered at the odd sense of a mental rustling, as if his brain was full of papers being sorted through. _“Ah yes. A good mind, no doubt about that. You think well on your feet, Mr. Potter - you’d do quite well in Ravenclaw! And yes, there’s a lovely bit of loyalty here… But not much patience, I’m afraid. As for the bravery—well, well! There’s little wonder you were a Gryffindor, Mr. Potter! But there’s more here… a talent for trickery, a lust to prove yourself, self-preservation in spades… Yes, I do believe I know where to put you, Mr. Potter, and this time there will be no backroom deals to get out of it!”_

It took Harry a moment too long to realize what the Hat was about to say—as he was ripping it off his head, it was already shouting, “SLYTHERIN!”

Harry glared at it. “I am _not_!” he shouted back.

The Hat made a kind of hissing sound. “Yes you are!” it said, though its voice was quite a bit weaker than normal.

“Headmaster!” Harry said, turning to Dumbledore, who was stroking his beard, looking thoughtful. “You can’t seriously—”

“I’m afraid the Hat’s decisions are quite permanent,” Dumbledore said. “We’ve rarely had to sort an older child and never been able to re-sort a child… I must admit, it is fascinating! Did you nearly get into Slytherin during your first sorting?”

Harry scowled. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I asked it for Gryffindor instead.”

“Ah, well that might help explain it,” Dumbledore said. “The Hat does hate to be dissuaded when it feels it’s made a good choice. Ah, well! Perhaps this is fortuitous. It will make your play as a new student more likely if you are staying in an unfamiliar dorm. Now the Slytherins have dorms in—”

“—the dungeons. I know,” Harry said miserably.

Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose. “Your time at school must have been very interesting indeed,” he observed.

Harry snorted. “Professor,” he said with feeling, “you don’t know the half of it.”

* * *

Since it was the holidays, the Slytherin dorms were deserted.

“We rarely have students stay during breaks,” Dumbledore explained as he led Harry down into the bowels of Hogwarts. “In fact, this year there are only three! It will be much easier for you to adjust until the rest of the students come back in January, I think."

Harry wondered if Dumbledore was saying that to reassure Harry or himself. As they descended into the dungeons, he couldn't stop himself from gloomily wondering what Ron would think of him being sorted into Slytherin. Nothing good, that was for sure. Harry wondered if this sorting would even count if he returned to his own time. He winced.  _When_ he returned to his own time. Whatever Dumbledore thought, it had to be possible, didn't it? He'd ended up here somehow, surely he could go back somehow.  _Somehow_. 

Dumbledore stopped in front of a stretch of wall and gave the password—“Aurora Borealis”—before stepping aside to let Harry go first into what would be his new common room. Harry took a deep breath and marched forward. 

The Slytherin dorms seemed much the same as the last time Harry had seen them, although admittedly his memory was mostly just an overwhelming amount of silver and green. The deep, plush couches weren’t that different from Gryffindor’s dorm. The lighting was darker and there weren’t any windows, but otherwise, the layout seemed similar. Harry looked around and wondered why he’d thought they were so drastically different from Gryffindor in second year.

“There’s quite a bit of room in the dungeons,” Dumbledore explained. “That’s part of the reason Salazar decided to put his students down here. Third years and above usually room with only one other student from their year and seventh years are allowed private dorms, permitting their grades are good.”

Harry’s eyebrows went up. He hadn’t known that. He wondered if the living situations were different in all the Houses; he’d thought everyone was like Gryffindor, living on top of each other for all seven years. He supposed he wouldn’t have minded not having to room with Seamus, though Dean and Neville were all right.

“In fact, you’re in luck; we have an uneven number of Slytherin fifth years, so there’s space for you in Mr. Snape’s dorm without having to move anyone about.”

Harry stopped walking. Dumbledore continued on without for a moment, then noticed that he was alone and turned back, brow furrowed.

“Mr. Potter?”

“Snape?” Harry said weakly. “You want me to room with— _Snape_?”

Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed. “You are familiar with him from your time?” Harry nodded furiously. “Ah. Well, that is rather unfortunate. However, if I try to put you with one of the other boys, it will raise questions when Mr. Snape is currently rooming alone—to the vehement protests of his fellow Slytherins, I might add.”

“Why let Snape room by himself?” Harry asked, frowning.

Dumbledore’s mouth firmed. “His mother requested it.”

Snape’s mother? Harry remembered the dark-haired woman in Snape’s memory, cowering before his shouting father. He wondered why it was so important to her that Snape have his own room, enough that she would come ask the headmaster of Hogwarts to allow it. And he wondered why Dumbledore _had_ allowed it. But Dumbledore’s expression said the subject was closed and Harry had enough experience trying to get answers out of Dumbledore to know better than to try.

Dumbledore shook his head and began to lead Harry up the stairs. “In any case, many of the other fifth years have been vocal in their protest of perceived favoritism and will only grow more so if I try to room you elsewhere. How well do you know Mr. Snape?”

Harry opened his mouth, closed it again. Strangely, he felt like he knew Snape too well and didn’t know him at all. He knew Snape hated him and still saved his life, he knew that Snape inexplicably spied on Voldemort and was a nasty git. He’d seen those memories, that dark-haired child sobbing in a corner, Snape’s skinny legs in the air. And yet Snape was still a stranger to him, an unknown.

“Well enough,” he said. Reluctantly, he added, “I might… slip up. We don’t really get along.”

“Think of it as a test,” Dumbledore said, as if Harry wasn’t shit at tests. “I’m afraid it’s your only option. You’re lucky, in fact - Mr. Snape almost always stays during the holiday breaks, but he elected to go home this year. You’ll have a week to prepare.”

Harry sighed. The hallways of the Slytherin dorms were made of dark stone and lit with low lanterns, their twisting paths almost like a labyrinth. Green and silver doors were unevenly placed, marked with student names near the handle. Dumbledore stopped at a door at the end of the hall marked S. Snape. Harry watched, eyebrows rising, as he waved his wand over the handle and a name was inscribed just below Snape’s: H. Potter. _Guess it’s official_ , he thought a little gloomily as Dumbledore opened the door and led him inside.

The room was plush and dark, furnished in green and silver. One side was clearly lived in. The bed was neatly made, but the desk was an absolute mess - parchment spread across its surface, books stacked in messy heaps and teetering stacks, inkwells and half-inked quills and crumpled papers and strange knick-knacks holding everything down. The other side was completely empty.

“We have a charity fund for orphaned students,” Dumbledore said. “You’ll need clothes and supplies. I’ll send you over to Diagon Alley with one of our students to pick them up later today, hm?”

Harry nodded, still staring at Snape’s side of the room. It was odd that seeing the way Snape lived reminded Harry that he was an actual person - and that right now, he was actually Harry’s _age_. Hell, depending on his birthday, Harry might be _older_ than him!

 _This is so weird,_ Harry thought, feeling a little faint.

“Why don’t I let you get settled in,” Dumbledore said. “Please come back to my office after lunch and we'll get your things for school. The password is 'Cream Puff.'”

He patted Harry once on the shoulder, very gently, before he left. Harry sank into the empty bed - _his_ bed, how weird was that - and took several deep breaths. Panic, which had been kept at bay thanks to Dumbledore’s comforting, almost familiar presence and leadership, threatened to overwhelm him. He was stuck in time, at least seven years before he would even be born, among people he’d known as teachers and adults. With his _parents_. He’d never been a good liar and now he needed to pretend to not know or care about them? How was he supposed to _do_ that?

He wished, a little desperately, for Hermione and Ron. Neville. Ginny. Even Luna’s zaniness would be helpful right now.

He laid down on the bed and buried his face in the pillow. For a long time, he tried not to think.

* * *

Lunch was a quiet affair. There were several teachers at the high table, but none of the other students showed up, so Harry awkwardly grabbed a few rolls and high-tailed it out of the room before anyone could speak to him. The teachers all watched him with raised eyebrows but no one tried to stop him. Harry still wasn’t quite sure what his story was and he didn’t want to mess it up, so he was relieved to make his escape quietly. He nibbled on his bread as he wandered up to the Headmaster’s Office, not really registering the taste.

The gargoyle opened easily this time and Harry climbed the stairs. He hesitated outside the door, then knocked several times, waiting for Dumbledore’s admittance before he came inside.

Dumbledore was alone, sitting at his desk and reaching over a scroll which he set aside as Harry entered.

“Please take a seat, my boy,” he said. Harry sat. “Your guide will arrive in just a moment, but I thought it would be a good idea to talk before you interact with anyone else in this time. I have entered you in our records as Harrison Potter, the son of Reginald Potter and a muggleborn, whose name you may make up if you wish. Unless you have a preference, I plan to say that your mother raised you until recently, teaching you what magic she could at home.”

“Wouldn’t I have gotten a Hogwarts acceptance letter?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said. “But there is a right of refusal from the legal guardians or parent.”

Harry stared. Thank Merlin Hagrid had implied that there wasn’t, otherwise the Dursleys _definitely_ wouldn’t have let him go!

“You may want to make up some sort of reason for her,” Dumbledore said, “but the effect is that you were homeschooled for the last five years until your mother died. After her death, you became a ward of the state and they have elected to have you finish your education at Hogwarts. Does that sound all right to you?”

“What should I say she died from?” Harry asked.

“The best story is one you will remember,” Dumbledore said. “One that sounds like it could be real. Natural causes may work - perhaps she was ill and that was why she wanted to keep you home.”

Harry nodded slowly. He knew that, he thought. Once upon a time, lying had come to him as easily as breathing: surviving the Dursleys made deceit a necessary tool and Harry had practiced enough to become good at it. But when he’d come to Hogwarts, he hadn’t really needed it anymore. At least, not with his friends. He’d fallen a little out of practice.

Well. Seemed he’d get plenty of practice now.

“Are you ready?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry considered it. An absent cad for a father, a mother who died of an illness. Simple enough and Harry figured he could probably fake grief if his guide tried to ask any deeper questions. He nodded and Dumbledore waved the door open. Harry turned, trying to paste on a smile that didn’t look fake and stopped cold as he stared directly into Remus Lupin’s eyes.

Oh _shit_ , he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have part of the next chapter written, so i should probably be able to post it sooner rather than later. comments & kudos always appreciated.


	2. i sometimes wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> harry and remus go shopping. harry makes a new friend and struggles to cope in his new time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is very much a filler chapter - i wanted to get a look at harry in the aftermath of this sudden shock to his system. i wrote pretty much all of it in one punch, so sorry if it's a little messy lmao.

_…have had many debates with Salazar on the subject and, as usual, he remains unreasonably stubborn in his own opinions. He insists that traveling through time is indeed possible. And, of course, he seems to think potions will unlock those secrets: today he cited his doomed ‘de-aging’ potion as the key to successful time travel. Salazar and Godric are potentially the most narrow-focused men I have ever met; give Salazar a problem and he’ll find some way to solve it with potions, and Godric will do the same with charms._

_I have pondered Salazar’s point about his ‘de-aging’ potion. It is not an entirely bad one; after all, if one can move backward in age, surely it is possible to move backward in time as well? But the logic is already flawed. For one, you are not really moving backward in ‘time’ at all; your body is changing, but you are staying in exactly the same time you were in before. So can it really be called ‘time travel’?_

_There are so many debates about time. Some liken it to a straight line, while others compare it to a swiftly-moving, circuitous river. But what is time, really? It cannot be so concrete, for it bends and changes. But it cannot be without strength, for it also has order and rationality. A river is not a bad analogy, I think, but it implies an ease of crossing that I do not think time has. I remember reading the account of a remarkably talented Arabian wizard who spoke at length of a quickly moving sand in the desert—it looked like regular sand until one stood upon it and found themselves sinking, sucked in so swiftly that they would be unable to move or escape within minutes. Any attempt to fight the sand simply led to a quicker capture. It seems to me that time is something like that—something that captures you, entraps you, deceptive and swiftly moving._

_So to travel through it? It is not impossible, no, just as escaping from the trap of this sand is likely not impossible; a friend might be able to help pull you out in time or you might be able to save yourself somehow. But I doubt the struggle would come without enormous physical cost; your body would be wrecked by the fight. And so with time magic. One can travel, though how the method may be achieved is still beyond our knowledge. But the body will suffer, for it is not meant to travel so; there will be no way to escape without serious physical or mental damage. After all, what kind of toll can it take to be so suddenly and instantaneously in a time not your own? How can one adjust to such a new and unpredictable environment, surrounded by a world made hideously unfamiliar?_

— _The Journals of Rowena Ravenclaw_ , trans. Farrah Sharma (1902)

* * *

Harry stared.

It had been possible when the only familiar person in this time was Dumbledore to refrain a sense of normalcy. It had even almost been possible to pretend none of this was happening; Dumbledore looked almost exactly the same, after all, so Harry could look at him and imagine he was still in his own time.

That wasn’t the case with Remus Lupin.

The Lupin Harry had known had been grey and exhausted, a man weathered by tragedy and hard living. This Remus—fresh-faced and bright-eyed, scarless, tawny-haired—might as well have been a complete stranger. Harry’s stomach dropped as vertigo hit him hard, and he wavered as he struggled to stay upright on suddenly shaky knees.

“Headmaster!” Remus said. He rushed forward and put a strong hand under Harry’s elbow, steadying him. Harry clung to that touch like a lifeline, using it to keep himself from drifting too far into the dizziness. “Is he all right?” He turned the focus of his bright eyes to Harry. “Are you all right?”

Harry licked his lips and forced himself to speak. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just a mite bit woozy, that’s all.”

Remus frowned at him. “You look ready to collapse.”

Sirius had called Remus a nag and a mother hen more than once. Harry hadn’t realized it applied to strangers as well as his best friends. Still, it warmed and steadied him that Remus cared even a little. It was a reminder that this Remus was not so dreadfully different after all from Harry’s Lupin.

“Here, sit,” Remus said, shepherding Harry to the nearest armchair. “Professor Vern said you wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes, yes,” Dumbledore said. There was some mirth in his face as he watched Remus force Harry into a seat. “Mr. Potter here is a late transfer. I was hoping you would be kind enough to be his escort to Diagon this afternoon to collect his supplies.”

“Me?” Remus asked, looking at Dumbledore with surprise. Then the rest of Dumbledore’s words seemed to catch up to him; he looked back at Harry sharply, combing over his face with new eyes. “Mr. _Potter_?”

“Harrison Potter,” Harry said, remembering the awkward full name at the last minute. He offered a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Remus Lupin,” Remus said, still staring. “Merlin. He definitely looks like a Potter.” He shook off his surprise with a snort, taking Harry’s hand and giving it a firm shake, a smile beginning to unfurl from the corner of his mouth. “And James claimed he didn’t have any extended family! That little—” Dumbledore coughed delicately and Remus colored, “— _liar_.”

Harry winced. “Well,” he said. “He didn’t _know_ he was lying. The Potters don’t know about me, I think. I’ve never even met them.”

True enough that Harry was able to say it with a convincing amount of awkward disappointment. Remus’ eyebrows rose. He looked between Harry and Dumbledore.

“And why’s that?” he asked. “I would’ve thought James would be thrilled to have someone near his own age around at family dinners. He always complains about how dreadfully boring the holidays are with just his parents.”

Harry took a deep mental breath, careful not to let his nerves show. Time to dust off those rusty lying skills. He plastered on a look that he hoped was affronted.

“Well,” he said, “Reginald never really got around to telling the family about me.” He didn’t think he could bring himself to call this long-dead great-uncle of his ‘father,’ but at least that reluctance wouldn’t seem strange from his bastard. “He and mum weren’t exactly… married.”

It took Remus a minute to gather the full implications of that. He winced.

“Ah,” he said and didn’t seem to know how to proceed.

“Mr. Potter’s mother has recently left us,” Dumbledore cut in. “In the wake of her passing, the state has elected to have him finish his education at Hogwarts.”

Harry glanced over at him and blinked when he met Dumbledore’s even, unreadable stare. There was some odd emotion in the Headmaster’s face for just that moment of contact but it was smoothed away almost immediately by the gentle smile he turned on Remus. Harry’s stomach tightened uncertainly. He’d seen that kind of look before, during the rare moments he and Dumbledore had seen each other during his fifth year. He still didn’t know what he’d done to make Dumbledore give him the cold shoulder and it made him uneasy that this Dumbledore might be inclined to do the same thing. If he wanted to get back home, back to his friends, he needed Dumbledore’s help. And Dumbledore was the only one who knew the truth about Harry, the only one in this time Harry could talk to as himself, not this new, strange Harrison Potter persona he was constructing.

“… and I will, of course, be writing to the Potters to inform them of this unexpected development.”

That jolted Harry from his worry, turning it in a new direction. “You will?”

Dumbledore gave him another unreadable look. “Of course. They deserve the chance to know you.”

Harry had never even seen pictures of his grandparents. He had no idea what they were like. Were they the type of people who would accept an unknown bastard with open arms or would they react like the Dursleys and turn him away?

“Well, I’d be happy to bring him to Diagon, Headmaster,” Remus said. He was looking between Harry and Dumbledore with a shrewd eye and Harry hoped his face hadn’t reflected much of his inner anxiety. Hopefully Remus would just think it was about being in a new place or meeting his estranged family. “But shouldn’t one of the professors bring him?”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Dumbledore said. “Professor Vern is the only professor left at the castle during the holidays and I’d hate to force the old girl out—she does hate traveling. I felt Harry might be more comfortable with someone his own age, in any case.”

Remus’ eyebrows rose. “You’re a fifth year?” he asked.

Harry scowled. He’d always been one of the smallest in his year, shorter than even some of the girls. He never seemed able to put on the height or muscle that Ron or the other boys were starting develop. If he wasn’t so immediately recognizable in his own time, people probably would have constantly thought he was younger than he was actually was.

“Yeah,” he said. “I turned fifteen in July.”

He realized after he said it that he probably should have made up a new birthday. But plenty of people had birthdays in July, didn’t they? Better that it was something he remember instead of some random date he’d fumble later on. He realized that in his own time, his birthday had only been a few months away, whereas here it was half a year—when would he actually be considered sixteen? Trying to think it through made his head spin. Time travel was _complicated_.

“—have a list,” Dumbledore was saying as Harry tuned back in. “His textbooks are the priority, of course, and some new uniforms.”

“Have you been Sorted already?” Remus asked. “James would be thrilled to have a cousin in his house!”

Harry winced. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words out loud. After a long look his way, Dumbledore offered Remus a smile.

“Mr. Potter was sorted into Slytherin this morning,” he said.

Dead silence. Harry’s stomach dropped as something shifted in Remus’s expression. Harry wouldn’t call it disgust, but everything warm and friendly in Remus’s face closed off, leaving a polite, icy distance.

“I see,” Remus said. “James will certainly be… surprised. I don’t think a Potter’s been sorted into Slytherin for years.”

Harry wanted to defend himself, but it wasn’t like he could _tell_ Remus that he’d been a Gryffindor first, that he’d always be a Gryffindor no matter what the Hat said or what tie he wore in this strange time. Maybe the Potters really _would_ not want to see him, with him mucking up their years of traditional sorting and being a bastard all in one. Harry tried to think about how Lucius Malfoy would have reacted if Draco had been sorted in Hufflepuff and winced. But surely his grandparents weren’t like that? He’d always thought they must be more open-minded than the other purebloods since his dad had married a muggleborn. But maybe not.

A chance to meet his family and he was already messing it up. Harry really was no good at this time travel business.

“Change can be a good thing,” Dumbledore said. “I’m sure young James will adjust. Now, you two had better be off!” He handed Harry a small pouch that clinked with coins. “Your allotted funds, Mr. Potter. You are free to have dinner in Diagon, but please be sure to be back at Hogwarts promptly by 8:00.” Dumbledore winked. “That’s my bedtime, you see.”

Remus smiled. “We’ll be back before then, Headmaster.”

Harry stood, putting the pouch in his pocket. He felt much steadier on his feet than he had been before, grounded by the long conversation. He hoped Diagon Alley hadn’t changed too much in twenty years; he didn’t think he’d be able to stand the embarrassment of fainting in front of so many people.

Remus led him to Dumbledore’s fireplace and took some Floo powder from a little pot on the sill.

As Harry grabbed some, Dumbledore said, “And boys?” They turned to face him. Dumbledore regarded them solemnly. “Be careful.”

* * *

To Harry’s relief, not much had changed in Diagon Alley in twenty years.

They had Flooed in to the Leaky Cauldron and made their way to the Alley largely ignored by a much younger Tom and the scattered customers at their tables. When Remus had tapped the stones, Harry had braced himself for a shock but the Alley was just as colorful and busy as he remembered. In the liminal space between Christmas and New Years, when so many students were on break and adults were taking a holiday, the street was packed with people rushing to and fro.

Harry stuck close to Remus as they made their way through the traffic. Much like Hogwarts, Diagon Alley was comforting to him—he’d had some of his first really _good_ memories there and it felt safe. Even the crush of people, normally something that made Harry skittish and claustrophobic, couldn’t diminish that.

Remus led him down most of the street until they came to a storefront filled with clothes in the windows. Harry didn’t realize until they ducked inside and came face-to-face with an unimpressed stocky man with a length of measuring tape around his neck that this wasn’t Madame Malkin’s. This store was smaller and more crowded than Madame Malkin’s had been, bursting with robes in every color and style. Harry’s mouth twitched when he caught sight of a frilly robe that reminded him of Ron’s dress robes in fourth year.

The memory twisted: Ron covered in brains, thrashing as he suffocated—Hermione gasp as she was hit with a purple spell—Ginny’s pale face—Neville’s terrified eyes as he begged Harry to not give in—Luna’s struggling—

 _Sirius_ —

Harry came back to himself with a gasp. His skin felt two sizes too small for his body, shivering with goosebumps. He forced himself to focus on an innocuous green robe near the back of the room as he tried to steady his breathing. The others were _fine_ , he told himself. Hadn’t Dumbledore come? Those Death Eaters might have bested him and his friends, but they weren’t any match for the likes of Dumbledore. He would save them, they would be _fine_ —

“Harrison?”

Harry whipped around so quickly Remus jumped, frowning at him. Harry cursed himself. He’d completely forgotten where he was, who he was with. Remus was already looking at him suspiciously. Harry forced a smile.

“Sorry,” he said. “And you can just call me Harry, if you like. Always thought Harrison was a bit stuffy.”

The suspicion didn’t leave Remus’s eyes, but he relaxed a little. “Mr. Barnes wants to measure you,” he said.

“Just step up there, laddie,” Barnes said. His thick Scottish accent reminded Harry of McGonagall and he relaxed a little, stepping up on the little platform Barnes indicated. The measuring tape began to zip around him, taking all sorts of measurements. “You’re a bit old for a first year, aren’t you?”

“Transfer,” Harry said, trying to ignore the tickle as the measuring tape took in the length of his neck. “I was home-schooled until this year.”

“Oh? Old mum finally willing to part with you, then?” The man chortled. “I know my own mum hated to see me go, had to practically beg her when my letter came around. But after that first year, she could hardly wait to be rid of me! Had all this time to herself with me off at school, you know.” He tipped Harry a knowing wink. “I’m sure your mum will come around, laddie.”

Harry looked between him and Remus, at a loss of how to tell the man that his mother was dead. Remus looked uncertain as well and shrugged at Harry. _Your choice,_ he seemed to say and Harry appreciated that Remus was letting him decide how much to tell this stranger.

In the end, he didn’t see any harm in letting this friendly old man believe what he wanted. Harry had become so used to having every private detail about his life scrutinized by strangers, having his every move and every part of his history be known before he even had a chance to learn someone’s name. The novelty of being able to lie about his history without anyone knowing enough to call him on it was actually a little invigorating.

“I’m sure she will, sir,” he said and the old man chuckled.

“Mums worry, that’s their right,” he said. Harry’s heart ached. He wouldn’t know; the closest he’d ever come to having a mother was Molly Weasley, and she’d always had her own brood to worry about first. “Send her a lot of letters and she’ll be all right. Now then, what house, laddie?”

“Slytherin,” Harry said.

The old man’s smile drooped a little. “Ah. I see. Green and silver ties, then?”

Was this going to happen every time Harry told someone what house he was in? He glanced at Remus, but Remus was studying a nearby display with an intensity that told Harry how little he wanted to be involved. Harry sighed.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

Barnes didn’t make any more affable small talk after that, working quickly and quietly to get Harry outfitted with four plain school uniforms, ties and patches included. After it was bagged up, Harry realized that those were now his only clothes in the world. He never thought he’d miss Dudley’s old cast-offs, ill-fitting and worn as they were, but at least it had been _something_ he could put in his trunk and call his. Harry’d always had precious few things of his own, all of them gifts; now, starting over with nothing more than his wand and the clothes on his back, he was startled by how much he missed those things. He’d never thought of himself as particularly attached to _stuff_ , but he would have traded anything to have his broom or his invisibility cloak or his _photo album_ —

Harry took the bag Barnes offered him and paid the fifteen galleons without a word. Barnes offered him a brusque smile and told him to come back again soon.

“Let’s go get your textbooks next, yeah?” Remus asked.

He’d been quiet for most of the fitting, but Harry had noticed him watching at several points. Harry wasn’t sure what to say to Remus either. He’d had something of an easy rapport with the older Lupin, soothed by his calm, kind demeanor and obvious patient authority, but this new, younger Remus was someone too entirely different for Harry to fall back into that same comraderie. And Harry couldn’t stop remembering Remus’s change in attitude when he found out Harry was a Slytherin.

“Sounds good,” he said.

The streets were a little less packed when they went back outside and Harry was relieved to see that Flourish and Blotts was still the major bookseller in Diagon, even though their logo had changed quite a bit since his day. The store was definitely smaller as they stepped inside, but most of the organization was still the same. Harry relaxed a little. Flourish and Blotts had always been more Hermione’s place than his—he and Ron had always preferred Fortescue’s or Quality Quidditch Supplies—but it was nice to be somewhere that was pretty much like he remembered it.

“The Headmaster didn’t say what supplementary courses you were taking,” Remus said, squinting down at Harry’s list of textbooks.

Harry blinked. He’d entirely forgotten that Dumbledore wouldn’t have any idea of Harry’s schedule back in his own time, or any idea what courses Harry had chosen. He almost opened his mouth to say Care of Magical Creatures and Divination, then hesitated. He’d chosen those courses mostly because Ron had and because he’d wanted to support Hagrid. But Hagrid wasn’t a teacher now—though he was still groundsman and Harry made a mental note to go see him—and Divination had been a dreadful bore. He wasn’t sure when Trelawny had started teaching but he doubted it would be improved with a different teacher anyway.

What had the other electives been? Hermione had been taking Arithmancy and Muggle Studies and he was sure he’d heard something about Ancient Runes…

He hoped he wouldn’t be in this time long enough to really care about what subjects he was taking, but while he was stuck here, wouldn’t it make sense to take classes that might actually help him understand how to get home? He wasn’t sure what would be involved to get him back to his own time, but he doubted magical creatures or making up terrible deaths for himself would factor into it.

“Arithmancy and Ancient Runes,” he said before he could change his mind.

Remus blinked. “Oh!” he said, a little warmer. “I have those classes too, that’ll make it easier. The robes were less than we expected, so you can pick out a few extra books as well, if you’d like. I think the Headmaster also added some for you to get a pet, so let me know if you want to take a look before we get dinner.”

Harry’s heart dropped. _Hedwig_! Who would take care of her? He hoped she would go to the Weasleys—they needed a good owl. Or maybe Hermione, though he wasn’t sure how Hedwig and Crookshanks would get along.

“Here’s your list,” Remus said, handing it over after making a few quick additions with a quill from his pocket. “I’ve got a couple of books I want to pick up too, so let’s meet up back by the registers, okay?”

Harry nodded, glancing down. The books were all surprisingly familiar—there was the _Standard Book of Spells_ that Harry remembered from his own fifth year list and _Intermediate Potions Making_ , _A Thoroughly Historical Study of Charms_ , and _A Study of Transfigurations_. These editions were all older than the ones he remembered, but undoubtedly the same books. The only books that really looked different were a few he assumed were for DADA (with titles like _Unlocking the Secrets of Dueling: A Beginner’s Guide_ and _Even More Dangerous Magical Creatures_ ) and the ones Remus had added at the bottom for Runes and Arithmancy. Well, Harry thought as he surveyed the list. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about school as much as he’d thought he would.

He hustled to the back shelves, picking up his textbooks as he passed them. Rifling through them revealed them as familiar as he’d thought—aside from some design choices and some additional material, the books were basically the same as the ones he’d studied twenty years in the future. Harry wondered why Hogwarts had never updated their textbook choices. Even if the books were fundamentally solid, shouldn’t they stop using books that had been written well before any of their students had been born? But, Harry remembered, this _was_ the wizarding world, where people still used quills instead of pens. Change wasn’t really their forte.

The only books that looked really intimidating were the ones for Runes and Arithmancy. Harry regretted his choice a little as he took in the Arithmancy textbook; he’d forgotten that he hadn’t taken a maths class since he was in elementary school as he flipped through several pages of complicated equations. He was relieved Remus had told him he could pick out extra books—he saw a little volume called _Arithmancy for Beginners_ and snagged it as well, hoping it would help him understand the subject more. He picked up a beginner’s guide for Runes as well.

He hesitated, glancing up front, but Remus still hadn’t finished with his own shopping yet. Harry glanced around and then hurried into the theoretical magic section. He’d never ventured into it before—he couldn’t even really remember if Flourish and Blotts had had it in the future—but he figured if he wanted to find any books on time travel, that would be the place. He scanned the titles and his heart jumped as he caught sight of a little section titled _Inter-dimensional and time travel_. It was just a corner, barely ten books. Harry scanned the titles.

 _In Search of the Edge of Time_ ; _The Dimensional Time-travel Toolkit_ ; _A Geography of Time_ ; _Travels in Four Directions_ ; _The Physics of the Impossible_ … Harry frowned. None of them seemed that helpful or easy to understand. He wondered if anyone had written anything about the Veil, which still seemed like the best way for Harry to get home. It was already a doorway; he just needed to find a way to make it more stable, didn’t he? Dumbledore had known about the Veil—surely _someone_ was researching it? Maybe there were some books on it somewhere—

“Harrison?”

Harry hurried back to the front of the store, smiling as he met Remus at the counter.

“I told you, it’s just Harry,” he said, setting his books down. “Ready to go?”

Remus had several books as well, most of them huge. Harry remembered Sirius teasing Remus about being such a bookworm he should’ve gone into Ravenclaw and swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat.

“Harry, right,” Remus said. The cashier gave them both a bright smile as she rang up the books. “Did you find everything okay?”

“Oh, sure,” Harry said. He hated this awkward, wary distance between the two of them; that Remus looked ready to let silence fall again with that one bit of small talk out of the way. He affected a casual, sheepish smile. “It’s a bit intimidating, to be honest.”

Remus raised his eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Well, school was never really that big of a thing before,” Harry said. He had no idea how home-schooling worked, but he doubted Remus did either, so he just made it up. “Mum was never really that strict of a teacher, so we let a lot of things slide. Not sure I’ll be up to the challenge of all _that_.” He gestured to the pile of books steadily being put into bags.

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” Remus said. “Most professors are very understanding.”

“Most?” Harry asked, eyebrows rising.

Remus grimaced. “Well. Professor Vern is a little…”

“What does she teach?” Harry racked his brains, trying to remember if there’d ever been a Professor Vern in any of Sirius’ stories.

“Defense,” Remus said. Ah. That might explain why Harry had never heard of her—even in his parents’ time, DADA professors only lasted a year. “She has… high standards, you might say.”

Harry had had plenty of teachers with high standards before. He wondered if Vern was more like McGonagall or Snape. As long as she wasn’t another Umbridge, Harry could probably deal with her. But then he remembered that Harrison Potter had never had _any_ professors before and he adopted a worried look.

“Just have to study those Defense books extra hard, then,” he said. Good thing he was good at Defense—more so after all year working with the DA.

Remus regarded him. “If you’re really having trouble,” he said, “I’d be happy to help. I tutor some of the younger students when I have time after classes.”

Harry blinked, then smiled wide. Remus wasn’t really that different after all, was he?

“That’d be a great help, thanks!” he said. At Remus’s surprised look, he tried to reign in his enthusiasm. “If you, uh. If you have the time, I mean.”

Remus smiled at him again, much warmer than he had before. “Of course. You’re James’s cousin after all—you’re practically family.”

Harry forced himself not to wince. He’d gotten used to the way Remus and Sirius had always told him how much he was like James, how much they seemed to see him in Harry—had even treasured it, in a way, as a link to the father he couldn’t remember. But it would still take some getting used to being seen in relation to James at Hogwarts—it was definitely going to be odd to always be thought of as James Potter’s cousin instead of his own person. Harry wondered if that was how Ron had felt all those years at Hogwarts where everyone saw his brothers or even Harry first.

“Sure,” he said.

After all, he wanted to get to know his parents—wanted desperately to meet them, see them alive and well and happy. Might as well get a foot in the door with Remus, especially since he was already starting out as a bastard and a Slytherin.

“Any thought to a pet?” Remus asked as the cashier handed them their books and they handed over their money. “There’s enough left for one.”

Harry almost shook his head. Nothing could replace Hedwig. But then again… He considered. He had no idea how long he’d be stuck here and any companion had to be better than nothing.

“Why not,” he said.

They made their way across the street. Remus started leading Harry toward what looked like an owl shop—not Eeylops Owl Emporium, but there were a bunch of birds in the window—but Harry shook his head. Even if he _did_ want a companion, he definitely didn’t want to get an owl. It would feel too much like he was replacing Hedwig. Besides, who did he even have to write to in this time?

Remus looked confused, but nodded and led Harry instead to the nearby Magical Menagerie, where Harry was pretty sure Hermione had gotten Crookshanks. It was a chaotic, noisy place, full of a bunch of different animal noises. Cages and containers housed all kinds of animals.

Unlike the bookstore, Remus stuck by him this time. “What were you thinking?”

“I dunno,” Harry said. He’d never had to pick out a pet before. “Let’s look around a little, I guess.”

The woman up front was talking to a harried pair of wizards with a snub-faced dog on a leash, so Harry and Remus walked around undisturbed. Harry ran his eyes over frogs, salamanders, hamsters, ferrets, and even one or two lizards. None of them appealed. He hesitated over the snake tank, eyeing the smooth coiled lumps in the dark recesses, but he turned away. As nice as it would be to be able to talk to something that could talk back, Harry couldn’t help remembering Nagini. It felt too—dark, too _evil_ , to talk to snakes. It made him too much like Voldemort.

At the end of the room was a door marked CATS. Harry shrugged and pushed it open—only to be immediately bowled over.

Remus closed the door behind them and watched in amusement as about two dozen cats tried to climb all over Harry. He tried to push them down but they only got more determined and came right back, their claws pricking his jeans and shirt as they scampered up him. All of them were meowing loudly.

“All right, all right, enough,” Remus said and, shockingly, the cats immediately backed off, some going so far as to race to the opposite end of the room, hissing and spitting. Harry, suddenly set free, stared at Remus. Remus shrugged. “Cats don’t really like me,” he admitted.

Harry frowned before it dawned on him that cats probably could sense the werewolf in Remus. Lupin had told Harry once that he had something of an affinity even with nonmagical animals, especially wolves and dogs. He hadn’t realized it almost meant there were animals that would react to the threat they could sense in Remus or that he could control it enough to send so many scampering.

“Well,” Harry said, trying to dust off the cat hair that had covered his clothes. “Let’s take a look then.”

Most of the cats were cute enough. Harry had never really thought of himself as a cat person, though he had never disliked Crookshanks as much as Ron did. He’d never really been an animal person at all, really, aside from Hedwig. He bent down and touched a finger to one of the smaller cats, smiling as it meowed and pressed its cold nose to his palm.

He noticed movement in one of the back corners of the room and blinked as a cat came slinking toward him. It was entirely black and so slim it was almost concerning. Something had left its right ear cut in half and its eyes, to Harry’s surprise, were a deep green that could have mirrored his. He watched, staying silent and still, as the cat approached him, long whiskers quivering.

The cat got to Harry’s bent knee. Harry didn’t move. Hermione had told him once that cats liked to be ignored when they were nervous and if he ever met a new cat he should just pretend it wasn’t there until it came to him. But Harry didn’t turn his gaze away from this cat, holding its eyes. The cat’s whiskers twitched once, twice.

Then, neat as anything, it hopped directly into Harry’s lap and climbed up his arm, settling on his shoulder too quickly for Harry to react until it was settled. He blinked, turning his head. He couldn’t see the cat that well, but he caught a glimpse of its keen green eyes and he could feel the rumble of a purr through his shirt. What?

Remus was laughing. When Harry looked over, Remus grinned down at him.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a cat, Harry,” he said.

* * *

The cat didn’t relinquish its place on Harry’s shoulder until they got to the Leaky Cauldron. As they sat down for dinner, it leaped nimbly down and curled up in Harry’s lap, tucking its head under its tail and going promptly to sleep. Harry stared down at it—well, _her_ , according to the harried sales clerk at the Menagerie—and wondered if all cats were like that or if Harry just always seemed to meet unusual animals.

“How do you feel about lamb’s stew?” Remus asked, looking at the menu.

Harry shrugged. During his brief stay in his third year, he’d liked the food at the Leaky Cauldron. Not that he’d ever been that picky about food. Harry had learned young you had to take what you could get. Remus offered him a smile and flagged down Tom the bartender, giving him their orders. As he left, Remus settled more firmly into his seat and turned the full force of his attention on Harry. Harry straightened. He’d been expecting something like an interrogation for their entire outing and he’d started to hope that maybe Remus would spare him his curiosity. Seemed not.

“So, Harry,” Remus said. “How do you like Hogwarts so far?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s a nice castle,” he said, hoping his nonchalance seemed genuine. “I’m probably going to get lost, though.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t get an acceptance letter before this.”

“I did,” Harry said. Remus’ eyebrows went up. “Mum said no.”

“Oh. But—why?”

Harry shrugged. He put a hand on the cat, taking comfort from her warm, solid body.

“She never told me,” he said. “I guess it probably had something to do with, uh… Well, with Reginald. I think she didn’t want me to have to deal with all of— _that_.” He shrugged again, more sheepish. “I dunno. I didn’t really want to be the Potter bastard either.”

“I’m sure that wouldn’t have happened.”

Harry wasn’t so sure. He’d seen how his relatives treated bastards before; Mrs. Rollin’s daughter had gotten pregnant while she was still in school and Aunt Petunia had nothing but nasty things to say about her child and how _some_ people were too _trashy_ to wait until _marriage_. Harry didn’t know what had happened to Mrs. Rollin’s daughter or her child, but he knew that whispers had followed the girl around for months. Would the wizarding world really be any different?

“Mum didn’t want to take any chances,” Harry said. “And she wasn’t really well. I think she wanted to have me at home to help out.”

Remus softened. “That’s admirable. I’m so sorry for your loss, by the way.”

Harry knew he needed to look grief-stricken. He cast about for something, anything, to make the appropriate expression. He’d never known his own parents, but he could remember their screams of horror thanks to the Dementors. He thought about that and then about Sirius falling and about the older Remus Lupin’s anguished howl as Harry disappeared after him until tears began to prick at the corner of his eyes.

“It’s fine,” Harry said and his voice was rough. “I knew it was coming.”

Which was more than could be said for the real deaths he’d experienced in his life. He’d never been prepared to lose anyone—not Cedric, not Sirius, not the friends whose lives had been in the balance when he’d gone through the Veil. Harry closed his eyes. They were okay, he repeated to himself. They had to be okay.

“Let’s talk about something else,” Remus said, his voice gentle. Harry opened his eyes again to find Remus regarding him sympathetically. “What do you think you’ll do with the rest of the holiday?”

Harry accepted the subject change gratefully, chatting about holiday plans and Remus’ excitement about seeing his friends again. They carefully steered around any other topics around Harry’s post or even his connection to James through the rest of their meal.

* * *

The cat did _not_ like Floo travel.

She came yowling out of the fire, escaping Harry’s grasp to hide under Dumbledore’s desk. Dumbledore stared, in the process of adjusting something on his many shelves. He looked from his desk to Harry with raised eyebrows.

“I see you decided to purchase a pet, Mr. Potter,” he said.

“A cat, sir,” Harry said, nursing a wicked claw mark on his index finger. He had more scratches on his wrist; it had taken forever to get the damn thing near enough to the Floo to travel through. “I’m regretting it a little now.”

Dumbledore laughed. “I’m sure the poor thing will settle in a little while,” he said. “I trust there was no trouble, Mr. Lupin?”

“No, sir,” Remus said, handing the remains of the bag of coins to Dumbledore. “Harry’s all set for the year, including the books for his electives.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Dumbledore said. “Mr. Lupin, you may retire to the Gryffindor Common Room if you wish. I have something to discuss with Mr. Potter.” When Remus hesitated, looking between them, Dumbledore smiled at him. “Thank you very much for your help.”

“Yeah, thanks, Remus,” Harry added. “Really. And I’ll let you know if I need any tutoring.”

Remus still seemed puzzled but he smiled at Harry. “Be sure you do,” he said. “Good luck.”

He left with a nod to Dumbledore. Once he was gone, Dumbledore turned to Harry and some of the amiability slid off his face. Harry startled. He hadn’t realized that Dumbledore had been affecting that kind grandfatherly look and he wondered if his own Dumbledore was able to do that so naturally or so often. This Dumbledore didn’t look— _cold_ , per se, but there was a strict formality to his features that Harry had rarely seen in his own time. Harry straightened.

“How did it go?”

Harry shrugged, uncomfortable under Dumbledore’s stare. “Fine, I think,” he said. “Remus asked some questions when we had dinner, but I didn’t have any trouble answering them.”

Dumbledore hummed. “I see,” he said and Harry wondered why that answer didn’t seem to satisfy him. “And these elective courses Mr. Lupin mentioned?”

“I’m taking Arithmancy and Ancient Runes,” Harry said. “I, uh—well, I didn’t take them before, but I thought they might help?” There really was something funny in Dumbledore’s face, Harry thought. He didn’t know what it was though. “Is something wrong, sir?”

And just like that, the little off-ness about Dumbledore’s face was gone, leaving only the warm grandfatherly smile that Harry knew so well. Still, knowing that it was affected made Harry less comforted by it now. Instead of relaxing, he wanted to know what it was hiding.

“No, no, of course not,” Dumbledore said. “I’m pleased you got along well with Mr. Lupin. Perhaps he can help you get oriented during the break.”

Harry didn’t know how much more hanging out with this weird young Remus he could take, but he guessed it would help prepare him to see younger, different versions of basically every adult he’d ever known in a few days. Harry winced.And he was going to be roommates with a younger _Snape_. Merlin, that was going to be a nightmare.

“I should probably go, Headmaster,” Harry said. “Unless there’s something else you want to talk to me about?” He perked up. “Did you find anything about—?”

“No, nothing yet,” Dumbledore said. “But it’s only been a day.”

“I did want to ask if there’s anything I can do to help? I tried looking at some books in Flourish and Blotts, but there wasn’t anything really useful there—”

“I can manage on my own, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said. There was some kind of clip to his voice but he smiled as he said it. Harry smiled back a little uneasily. “Not to worry, I have access to more theoretical texts than Flourish and Blotts puts on their shelves.”

Harry could believe that—he knew Hermione had raved about how extensive Hogwarts’ library was and that wasn’t counting Dumbledore’s own collection, which had to be pretty wide too—but he still couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. It was like when he’d known Dumbledore was avoiding him and not just too busy to talk; there was something _off_ here. But Harry knew he wouldn’t get whatever it was from Dumbledore.

“Sure, Headmaster,” Harry said with his own friendly smile. “I should get some sleep, I guess.”

Well. If Dumbledore wouldn’t tell him, Harry would just have to figure it out on his own. He might not have Hermione and Ron in this time, but Harry could still find out _something_.

“Of course,” Dumbledore said. “Don’t forget your new friend, though.”

Harry had almost forgotten about the cat. He frowned but just as Dumbledore said that, a black streak came out from under his desk and leaped nimbly on Harry, clawing up his shirt to sit on his shoulder. The cat didn’t seem panicked anymore and just started washing a paw as if she hadn’t scratched Harry half to death ten minutes ago. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Goodnight, Headmaster,” he said.

Dumbledore smiled at him again. “Goodnight, Mr. Potter.”

* * *

The Slytherin dorms seemed particularly spooky as Harry returned. There weren’t windows, so it wasn’t like it was obvious it was night, but Harry couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that someone was watching him.

“And who are you?”

Harry yelped and the cat, keeping her place on Harry’s shoulder, hissed. He could feel the brush of her tail against his neck as he whirled around, coming face to face with the Bloody Baron. The Baron stared at him with his eerie eyes. The chains wrapped around his neck and chest clanked softly.

“Oh,” he said, relaxing a little. The Baron was frightening and a little weird, but Harry didn’t think he was dangerous. Or, at least, not any more dangerous than anything else in Hogwarts. Then he remembered he wasn’t supposed to know who the Baron was. “Who are _you_?”

Harry didn’t think he’d ever spoken directly to the Baron before. As a child, he’d been too nervous to even go near him and when he was older, he almost never thought about the ghosts at Hogwarts. The Baron stared at him for a long moment, then swept into an incredibly formal bow.

“Baron Walter Godfrey, at your service,” he said. “You must be the new student everyone’s muttering about.”

Harry blinked. “Muttering about?” he asked. “Wait, _everyone_?”

“All the ghosts,” the Baron said. “And the house elves are interested in you as well, of course.” He eyed Harry carefully. “You’re a Potter, all right. But what in Merlin’s name are you doing in my house?”

“The Hat put me here,” Harry said.

“Potters have been in Gryffindor for hundreds of years,” the Baron told him as if Harry needed any reason to feel worse about his sorting. “There’s been a couple in Ravenclaw, one or two in Hufflepuff, but never _Slytherin_.” The Baron surveyed Harry for another long moment then, to Harry’s surprise, began to laugh. It was a quiet, whispery sound. “Oh, poor Thaddeus must be rolling his grave. He swore his line would always be Gryffindor people.”

“Thaddeus?” Harry asked, curious.

“Thaddeus Potter,” the Baron said. “Your ancestor. We went to school together.”

Harry stared. He’d never known _that_! “You _did_?”

“Oh, yes. You remind me of him—that damn hair.” Harry’s hands went automatically to his hair. Could something like that really go back so far? Harry remembered how alike Lucius and Draco Malfoy looked and wondered if this was another magical family thing. “Well. We’ll see how you do, young Potter. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

“Wait—”

But the Baron had already disappeared. Harry stared at where he’d been, disoriented. A warning nip to his ear brought him back to reality and he turned to give the cat a glare. She didn’t notice, washing a paw. Harry sighed and turned to trudge up the stairs to his room.

When he got back to his own time, he’d have to ask the Baron about his ancestor. He wondered what this Thaddeus Potter had been like, if he really _would_ roll over in his grave because Harry dared to be the first Potter sorted into Slytherin. But if Thaddeus was watching, then he’d know Harry was a Gryffindor first—and that would make up for it, wouldn’t it?

He dumped his books and new robes on his bed and sat down, taking off his shoes. The cat jumped down and set to examining every inch of the room, whiskers twitching. Harry had stripped down to his underwear when she was finally done, returning to his bed and staring up at him with her odd green eyes. Harry regarded her. The sales associate had told him she was still pretty young, barely a year old, and she’d given the shop a lot of trouble because she kept biting customers who came too close. Harry still wasn’t sure why she’d decided to come with him or if he was imagining the odd intelligence in her eyes.

“You need a name,” he told her. The cat rolled her shoulders, completely unconcerned. “I’ll think of something, promise.”

The cat leaped up next to him and sniffed down the length of his bed before settling firmly on his pillow, tucking her head under paws and going to sleep. Harry smiled a little at that and the prospect of sleep seemed a little less daunting with something warm and alive nearby. He laid down and pulled the covers up to his chin. He waved his wand to put out the lamp and closed his eyes as darkness rolled over the room.

* * *

_A voice, drawling from the darkness: “Very good, Potter. Now turn around, nice and slowly, and give that to me…”_

_Lucius Malfoy’s vicious smile.“About both of you, Potter, about both of you… haven’t you ever wondered why the Dark Lord tried to kill you as a baby?”_

_A baby’s head now sat grotesquely on top of the thick, muscled neck of the Death Eater as he struggled to get up again…_

_“RON?” Harry yelled, turning quickly from the monstrous transformation taking place before them. “GINNY? LUNA?”_

_But the Death Eater Hermione had just struck dumb made a sudden slashing movement with his wand; a streak of what looked like purple flame passed right across Hermione’s chest. She gave a tiny “Oh!” as though of surprise and crumpled on to the floor, where she lay motionless…_

_Neville gave a howl of pain and recoiled, clutching his mouth and nose…_

_Dolohov grinned. With his free hand, he pointed from the prophecy still clutched in Harry’s hand, to himself, then at Hermione. Though he could no longer speak, his meaning could not have been clearer. Give me the prophecy, or you get the same as her…_

_A whine of panic inside his head was preventing him thinking properly: he had one hand on Hermione’s shoulder, which was still warm, yet did not dare look at her properly. Don’t let her be dead, don’t let her be dead, it’s my fault if she’s dead…_

_But the thin ribbons were spinning around Ron’s chest now; he tugged and tore at them as the brain was pulled tight against him like an octopus’s body…_

_“Bellatrix raised her wand. “Crucio!”_

_Neville screamed, his legs drawn up to his chest so that the Death Eater holding him was momentarily holding him off the ground. The Death Eater dropped him and he fell to the floor, twitching and screaming in agony…_

_“Harry, round up the others and GO!”_

_Harry turned to look where Neville was staring. Directly above them, framed in the doorway from the Brain Room, stood Albus Dumbledore, his wand aloft, his face white and furious. Harry felt a kind of electric charge surge through every particle of his body—they were saved…_

_It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall: his body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backwards through the ragged veil hanging from the arch…_

_“SIRIUS!” Harry yelled. “SIRIUS!”_

_He had reached the floor, his breath coming in searing gasps. Sirius must be just behind the curtain, he, Harry, would pull him back out…_

_But as he reached the ground and sprinted towards the dais, Lupin grabbed Harry around the chest, holding him back._

_“There’s nothing you can do, Harry—”_

_“Harry, NO—!”_

_Alone, alone and cold and confused and it hurt to breathe, he couldn’t_ breathe—

* * *

Harry woke screaming.

Covered in sweat, he scrambled out of his bed, tripping over his blanket and landing on his knees on the floor. His arms trembled. For several long moments all he could do was pant in the darkness, trying to calm his racing heart. He could still hear his friends crying out as, one by one, they were hurt, hear the spells whizzing over his head, see Hermione’s panicked face, Neville’s stubborn rage, Ginny’s defiance… Harry rubbed hard at his eyes, willing himself to stop trembling. They were fine. Hadn’t Dumbledore shown up? Hadn’t the tide been turning by the time Sirius—Harry’s breath caught around the edge of a sob. By the time Sirius—

 _Sirius_ —

Harry curled in on himself and let the cry loose. It was too big to hold in, too harsh and jagged to be anything close to actual tears. Sirius wasn’t here, not really. No one he knew was here. For the first time in years, Harry was all alone again, all by himself after years, _years_ , of finding people who cared about him, who loved him, and now he’d lost it all. Gone in an instant.

Would he ever see them again? Would he ever get a chance to listen to Hermione lecture him about completing homework or play Quidditch with Ron or share a joke with Ginny or listen to one of Luna’s zany stories or see Neville blow something up in Potions? His breath began to shorten. Would he ever see Remus’ kind smile again? Eat Molly Weasley’s cooking and think this might be how it felt to have a mother? Ever hear Dumbledore call him _my boy_ and mean it?

Harry startled badly as something touched his arm. A warm weight settled in his lap and he looked down. The cat was too black to see in the darkness, but he could see her faint outline as she stood on his lap, the gleam of her eyes as she looked up at him.

The shock of her warm, breathing body brought Harry back from the edge of his encroaching panic. He tentatively settled a hand on her furry back and she began to purr. Harry focused on that sound and his own breathing for several long minutes, mindlessly petting her back and tail.

When he felt a little less like he was going to spiral out of control, Harry reached back to the bed and groped around for his wand. When he found it, he flicked on the light, grimacing as it burned his eyes. The cat made an inquisitive meow. She was standing up on Harry’s legs still, her tail up, flicking a little at the tip. When she noticed Harry was looking she reached up with a paw and batted hard at his nose. Harry blinked. The cat gave him a satisfied look and bounded off of his lap, jumping back on the bed.

Harry rubbed his nose. In the light, out of the claws of the nightmarish memories, it was easier to think. He had to keep his head on straight. If he gave up already, he’d never find his way back home to his friends. He was a Gryffindor, wasn’t he? He needed to be brave. He _would_ find his way back to his own time. He had to. It didn’t matter how long it took, he’d make his way back to them. And until then, he’d deal with the strangeness and the loneliness as best he could.

Standing took longer than Harry thought it would—his knees were strangely shaky. He managed to heave himself back into bed and the cat made some kind of chirping noise, settled back in her place on Harry’s pillow. Harry relaxed a little and reached out to pat her back. He felt the drag of her rough tongue on his forehead and he smiled.

Well. He wasn’t entirely alone, anyway.

* * *

The week leading up to the students' return was quiet.

The morning after his arrival, Harry woke up and had two glorious seconds where he thought he was back in his own bed in Gryffindor Tower in 1996—and then he caught sight of the green and silver and he remembered all the horrible events of the last few days. He knew he should get up and eat breakfast and talk to Dumbledore and try to figure out something about time travel on his own, but his body refused to move. He stayed in bed, staring at his ceiling for hours. The cat kept him company, snoozing comfortably by his head and then padding up and down his stomach.

He wouldn’t have left the room for himself, but the cat began to meow sometime in the afternoon and he realized he’d never fed her. He got up, his bones creaking so much he felt like an eighty-year-old man and shuffled out to the kitchens. The house elves had been surprised by his appearance, but happy to give him a sandwich and some mushed cat food. The cat had scarfed it down and the rest of Harry’s sandwich when he couldn’t finish it. Exhausted by that simple task, he’d gone back to bed and fallen back into blissful sleep.

The nightmares didn’t stop. He woke screaming again, the moment of Sirius falling still playing in his head. It took him hours to fall back asleep that time, even with the cat’s heavy, warm weight on his chest. When Harry woke the second morning after his arrival and still opened his eyes to green and silver, he took several deep, long breaths and forced himself to get up.

From that morning on, he ate breakfast in the Great Hall. He caught glimpses of the other students staying—Remus had waved a few times and he’d ignored the wide-eyed curiosity from the younger Hufflepuff students—and exchanged cautious nods with an elderly woman with short, wild white hair and a stern mouth who had to be Professor Vern. After every breakfast, he went up to Dumbldore’s office and asked for updates. Dumbledore didn’t usually have any. He would smile at Harry and offer some kind of reassurance and tell him he was still researching, that it was a delicate subject, that it would take time.

So Harry tried to find things to do to fill his time. He walked through Hogwarts, soothing himself with its familiarity, the cat keeping him company. He looked through his textbooks, started the beginner’s textbooks he’d picked up for Arithmancy and Runes, taking notes that would have made Hermione proud. He made toys for the cat, who liked things that she could jump after and pounce on. He tried to think of names to give her. He wrote long letters to his friends in his head, telling them how sorry he was that he’d ever led them into the Ministry in the first place, that he had left them behind, that he had made them worry. He tried not to think about their fate. He spent time in the library, looking over newspapers, trying to familiarize himself with this new time. He went up to the Astronomy Tower and watched falling snow.

The nightmares came every night.

New Years passed without much fanfare. Harry sat in the Great Hall for dinner, the long house tables abandoned for one single table that housed the four students staying, Dumbledore, and Vern. Harry squirmed under Vern’s hawkish gaze and wondered how much Dumbledore had told her about him. But she didn’t bother talking to him, so Harry focused on his food and made it back to his own bed before midnight. He’d set up a Tempus spell and let out a long breath when he heard the alarm go off that signaled midnight.

“1976,” he said and had to bury his face in the cat’s fur to keep his calm.

Then, too quickly to be believed, the students were returning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the parts of harry's nightmare are all pulled directly from order of the phoenix. i reread that chapter to remember exactly what happened right before harry goes through & i'd forgotten how fucked up it is. the titles harry sees in the bookshop are all actual titles of books about time travel. 
> 
> i really thought about having harry have a snake, but even tho i know fandom likes to have that happen, it doesn't seem likely harry would be allowed to have an animal that's not on the acceptable animal list. besides, i also really don't think this harry is comfortable enough with his parseltongue - esp after that arthur weasley incident - to really WANT a snake. so we get a cute cat instead.
> 
> we don't ever get the baron's name in canon as far as i remember. and i obviously have my own headcanons for the potter family - who, yes, we will be seeing relatively soon. 
> 
> next chapter we'll finally see snape - because, spoiler alert, we'll be getting snape pov. the students return, snape finds out he has a roommate, and things start to get real interesting. thank you so much for your kind words on this weird story so far and comments and kudos are always, always appreciated!!


	3. a great and sudden change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone wants a chunk out of the new kid but Severus is the one stuck as his roommate. Even Dostoevsky doesn't have a quote for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the kudos & comments! just a warning for some discussion of severus's abuse at the very beginning of this chapter.
> 
> edit: went back and cleaned up some of the footnotes, fixed some glaring spelling errors, added some notes to the end notes. that'll teach me to post before editing thoroughly lmao.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I do believe this is the first letter I have ever sent you that does not have anything to do with whatever nefarious mischief young James has been caught engaging in! No, your son has been remarkably well-behaved since that unfortunate incident earlier this year and I do hope he had a happy holiday with you and your wife over the winter break._

_No, I’m afraid another reason to contact you, Mr. Potter. You see, a young man has been recently brought to my attention by the Ministry of Magic. He was brought under their auspicious care after the unfortunate death of his mother a month ago. She had been home-schooling him since he was old enough to hold a wand and, in the absence of her training, this young man has been sent to Hogwarts to complete his education._

_You might be asking yourself what this young man’s life has to do with you. In short, everything. For, you see, this young man’s name is Mr. Harrison Potter and he is your nephew._

_I am sure you were more than familiar with your brother’s less than illustrious behavior before his death. It seems that his behavior extended to Mr. Potter’s mother, a young muggleborn witch. I am not sure if he ever knew that she fathered his son or if she ever contacted him. Mr. Potter believes she did not, so it is possible that your brother’s negligence stems simply from ignorance. However, the boy has come to Hogwarts just a week ago. He was sorted into Slytherin, which was quite the surprise all around, as you might expect._

_The Ministry was content to keep your family in the dark considering Mr. Potter’s unfortunate background. However, I felt it was my duty to inform you of him. I do not believe young Harrison has any intention of contacting you himself or asking anything of you. His school needs are covered by our charity fund and the boy himself seems to simply want space to grieve for his mother in peace. If you wish to visit the boy or speak to him, I would be happy to arrange a meeting on your behalf._

_Sincerely,_  
_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_  
_Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_  
_Order of Merlin (First Class)_  
_Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards  
_ _Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot._

* * *

Severus had never once come back to Hogwarts without injuries.

At this point in his life, he was done being surprised or ruffled by it—he simply treated the wounds as best he could by Muggle methods and waited for the cover of Hogwarts to get the necessary potions to heal them completely. Before Hogwarts, he’d rarely been free from pain—it had been almost miraculous, the first time he had woken up without a bruise or scrape during his first year. _How free it is, you have no idea how free—/ The peacefulness is so big it dazes you._1  Despite every danger Hogwarts held, Severus would have fought to stay there for that feeling alone.

This time it was a heavy bruise on his side. His father, drunk and belligerent the entire time Severus had been home, had taken offense to Severus reading a book on Christmas Day—he’d torn it out of Severus’s hand and knocked him hard to the floor, kicking him back down when he tried to get up until he could barely breathe. Severus had learned very early in his life that it was easier to stay still and let his father work out his rage; without his wand, he was no match for Tobias Snape, who outweighed him by several stone.

The bruises he could handle. He’d spent the better part of his life handling them. But Tobias had also thrown Severus’s book into the rubbish and he had taken it out before Severus could safely retrieve the precious volume, a crinkled edition of _The Brothers Karamazov_. Severus had read it to keep his own jagged feelings at bay. _I exist! I see the sun, and if I don’t see the sun, I know it’s there. And there’s a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun is there._ 2  Severus had added the book to the very long list of things he intended to see his father pay for and spent the rest of the holiday in his room, out of sight.

Severus didn’t normally come home during Christmas. His father always drank more during the holidays and spent a lot of time yelling: at Severus for being a weak, pansy-assed faggot and at his mother for tainting strong Snape blood with her freakishness. Severus dealt with that enough over the summer—unless he had no other choice, he didn’t go home during the school year. _But if I break, I must break myself alone._3  But his mother had sent him a letter in early December asking him to come. His mother rarely asked anyone for anything and Severus had worried that his father’s treatment of her had worsened in some way without Severus there to draw the majority of his ire. He’d agreed to leave the relative safety of Hogwarts solely to make sure she was all right.

He didn’t regret it, but he had spent most of his holiday break wondering why his mother had been so urgent about him visiting. She usually understood his need to escape their home and had never once asked him to return during the year. But she’d seemed her usual self during his visit—battered yet fierce, _a free human being with an independent will_ 4—and his father’s treatment of her, while always disgusting and deplorable, hadn’t become more extreme since last summer. It didn’t occur to him until his last day home that his mother might have been worried about _him_ staying at Hogwarts after the _incident_ at the beginning of the last term.

Severus forced himself not to snarl. He was alone in his carriage, as always, but he hated to breed bad habits that might crop up when he was around other people. He couldn’t think about that horrific night for very long without wanting to punch something—preferably the faces of a few specific Gryffindors. But he had to wonder if the _incident_ hadn’t created some anxiety in his normally reserved mother, making her uncharacteristically want to reach out to him.

Perhaps she had just wanted to see him. _When trouble thickens around us, still will she cling to us._ 5 A novel concept.

As the carriages rounded the corner and Hogwarts came into view, Severus relaxed. Every time he came back to Hogwarts after spending time at that house, he always felt a little like he was leaving something dark and vicious behind, dropping the pieces himself that were vicious and wary. Hogwarts had its own dangers, but it also had its pockets of safety as well. Severus was able to leave the vicious nastiness of his home life behind him, if only for a time. _I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions._ The feeling never lasted, especially after this year’s disastrous beginning—his safety at Hogwarts was always an illusion and sooner or later, _the tulips filled it up like a loud noise._ 6 But Severus would take that moment of peace and safety and stretch it for as long as he could. He’d taught himself that long before he ever held a wand.

The carriages always stopped at the Great Hall’s entrance. The train came late enough that dinner was always served immediately upon arrival. Students poured into the castle in chattering, laughing droves as they found their friends and caught up after the long break. No one caught Severus’s elbow or smiled at him or asked him about his winter break but Severus had become so accustomed to it that he hardly noticed, his mind on one of the potions books he’d left behind during break that he’d wanted to read around Christmas. It had some fascinating articles about the potential use for moonstones that Severus wanted to double-check…

He was just outside of the Great Hall when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He startled, whirling, hand already diving for his wand in his pocket, but he relaxed as he met Lily’s laughing green eyes. Like Hogwarts, Lily carried her own sense of safety. Severus braced himself.

“Sev!” Lily said, grabbing him in a quick, affectionate half-hug around the neck. Behind Lily, her usual gaggle of friends lingered, waiting for her with various expressions of distaste and dislike. Severus patted Lily’s back awkwardly—all these years and he’d never quite gotten used to her hugs—and gave her friends a long, cold stare over her shoulder. A few of them wrinkled their noses. “How were your holidays? Thank you so much for the book! Petunia was an absolute wretch the entire week, I needed the entertainment.”

“Thank you for the scarf,” Severus said as they pulled apart. He didn’t smile at her, not with so many people around and watching, but he allowed his face to soften. “It didn’t really keep me warm, but—”

Lily huffed. “Wanker!” she said with a grin and a friendly slap on Severus’s shoulder. “I knitted that scarf with my own two hands!”

“Well,” Severus said, pretending contemplation, “that explains all the snarls.”

Lily laughed, utterly unbothered by any of Severus’s teasing. Severus had often wished he could be the same—he always hid it when Lily’s barbs, friendly as they were, hit too close to home.

“But really though, how was your holiday?” Lily’s eyes raked over him and Severus tensed as her friendliness softened to concern. “Everything go okay?”

“Fine.” Severus shrugged, maintaining his nonchalance. He knew what Lily was really asking. “Normal.”

Lily frowned. “Your mum’s okay?”

Severus did his best not to sound bitter, but he didn’t succeed. “The best she can be.”

Lily sighed. “I wish you would talk to me more about this,” she said, a long-recurring argument between them. “I’m your friend, aren’t I? I can listen.”

Severus would sooner stab himself in the eye than tell Lily the dirty details of his home life. _My troubles are mine and I am the only man alive who can sustain them. My load of woe is incommunicable to all but me._ 7 Lily didn’t need to hear about his drunk father or his mother’s suffering or Severus’s bruises. Lily was… _my sympathy–my better self–my good angel._ 8 He wouldn’t touch her with the dirtiness of his life.

“It’s not worth discussing,” Severus told her, as he always did.

Lily looked ready to argue with him, eyes flaring, but one her friends sighed loudly and obnoxiously. Severus glanced over and found Bones frowning at them. Her eyes narrowed as Severus met her gaze.

“Lily!” she called, still staring at Severus. “Come on! We need to find our seats!”

Lily rolled her eyes and offered Severus a conspiratorial wink, the kind he hoarded as a reminder that she really was _his_ friend and wouldn’t abandon him just because those ninnies she hung out with hated him.

“I’d better go before their sprain something,” Lily said. “But let’s meet up tomorrow, okay? The usual spot?”

“Yes,” Severus said.

He kept his eyes on her bright hair as she turned and rushed away with her chattering friends. He always felt a little lighter after speaking to her and it was easier to face the cool distaste of his own house with the memory of her friendly smile still lingering. Severus sat with the gaggle of Slytherin fifth years as he always did and, as always, he was largely ignored by all of them aside from a sneer from Nott. Severus sat with them because it was less humiliating than joining the younger years and they allowed it because he’d single-handedly kept them from failing potions for the past five years. But they always were sure to let him know how little they actually wanted him around.

It took nearly twenty minutes before the Great Hall was full. Severus used that time to finish off the book he’d been reading on the train, a treatise on ethical animal transfiguration McGonagall had assigned him over the break. He’d read it on the train home as well and written several feet of notes but he’d wanted to take another crack at it before his class with McGonagall on Tuesday. It was an interesting, if dry, read and it absorbed his attention thoroughly enough that he didn’t realize that Dumbledore had stood for his traditional speech until he’d already begun to speak.

“—a thoroughly diverting holidays!” Dumbledore was saying as Severus looked up from his book. Several students—all, Severus noted with disgust, Gryffindors—cheered. Dumbledore chuckled. “Alas, you have returned to the stolidity and boredom of the classroom! Just a few gentle reminders as we resettle into our routine for the new year. The Forbidden Forest, as ever, is strictly off-limits unless given express permission by a professor. Professor Flitwick has asked me to remind members of the Dueling Club that there will not be a meeting this week and Professor Sinistra has issued a warning that Astronomy classes may be canceled tomorrow night due to the potential for severe snowstorms.”

Dumbledore cast a look to the side and Severus followed it until he saw a student standing near the head table. If Dumbledore hadn’t looked, Severus probably wouldn’t have noticed him—a slight, slouched figure, he was easy to overlook. Severus was on the opposite end of the head table so it was difficult to see; he just got the impression of a head of dark hair and bright eyes before Dumbledore drew his attention back again.

“Finally, we are welcoming a new student to our midst as we begin this new year.” Whispers began to spread. “Joining our fifth year Slytherins is a late transfer.” Dumbledore beamed at them and swept his arm to the side. “I am pleased to introduce Mr. Harrison Potter!”

Silence. Severus’s stomach swooped, sickening vertigo. Involuntarily, he looked to the Gryffindor at a visibly dumbfounded James Potter. Everyone else was looking at him too and the collective surprise of the entire school at a mysterious Potter being sorted into Slytherin popped as everyone began to talk at once, sending the Great Hall into an uproar. Severus leaned back in his seat, his heart beginning to return to its regular rhythm, keeping his face carefully blank. Most Slytherins were intimately aware of Severus’s… troubles with James Potter and he knew many of them would be watching his reaction to this unexpected news, searching for any signs of weakness. Severus wouldn’t show it to them even if his hand was beginning to go numb under the table from how tightly he was clenching it into a fist.

Merlin, how was he supposed to cope with a Potter in his house? Despite everything, being a Slytherin was something of a respite—at least James Potter wasn’t always around the way he would have been if Severus had been, Merlin forbid, a _Gryffindor_. And now that that respite had been snatched from him. Severus wretched his mind away from the idea. He would deal with this. He just hadn’t expected the tulips to disintegrate his bubble of safety so quickly.

Dumbledore waited until the noise had died down a little to speak again. “Mr. Potter has been home-schooled until this year. I trust you all will show him the generosity and cooperation Hogwarts students are so well-known for.”

Looks were exchanged at the Slytherin table, but none of them were gauche enough to roll their eyes. They watched in complete silence as Dumbledore nodded to their newest acquisition, signaling him to sit down. Despite himself, Severus leaned forward as the new boy began to walk toward the Slytherin table. He wanted to get a look at this new, unexpected enemy.

It was difficult to get a good look over the heads of everyone else, but Harrison Potter walked down most of the table before picking a place to sit among some nervous second years, only a few seats away from the fifth years. Severus eyed him, surprised. He was shorter than most of the other Slytherin boys and slender enough that his robes seemed to swallow him. His shock of black hair and angular face were pure Potter so it took Severus a minute to catch the brilliant green of his eyes, so like Lily’s that he glanced back at the Gryffindor table again. When he looked back, Potter had already bent to his food. Severus’s eyes narrowed, some of his disquiet and anxiety disappearing under his curiosity.

Home-schooled, Dumbledore had said. Yet, even though every student in Hogwarts was watching him right now—several of them even standing to try and get a better look—Potter barely seemed to notice their collective attention. His only acknowledgment of it was the tightness in his shoulders and a forced nonchalance as he began to make work on his mashed potatoes. Odd. How could a student so sheltered be so calm under the weight of all those eyes?

Eventually, when Potter didn’t do anything more interesting than put too much salt on his chicken, attention drifted away from him. He was still being discussed if Severus knew anything about the Hogwarts gossip mill, but people weren’t staring anymore. Severus still was, so he noticed as Potter’s shoulders dropped a little as the direct attention left him, how his appetite became more genuine.

Severus returned to his own meal, mind whirring. A Potter in Slytherin was beyond unprecedented. The Potters were an old family, nearly on par with the Malfoys and the Blacks; those families almost always went into the same house. Sirius Black had caused a minor uproar when he was sorted into Gryffindor, after all. And… Severus glanced at his new housemate’s bent head. A Potter appearing out of the woodwork after years of home-schooling stank of a scandal. If he had been sorted into any other house, the scandal might have been ignored but in Slytherin the combination of his family name and his potentially checkered past would put him right at the bottom of the pecking order. If this Potter had come to Hogwarts expecting the same kind of treatment his relative got, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

Severus was proved right before the end of the meal. Nott elbowed a couple of second-years out of the way so that he could take the seat next to Potter and leaned heavily into his space, grinning at him.

“Welcome to Slytherin, Potter,” he said. “I’m Walter Nott.”

Potter glanced at him. He had no control over his face at all, Severus noticed with disdain. It was clear he was suspicious of Nott, frowning at him with a little crinkle between his brow.

“Nice to meet you,” Potter said slowly.

Nott’s grin widened. “So you’re a Potter, huh?” he asked. “Any relation to…?” Nott inclined his head to the Gryffindor table.

Severus mentally rolled his eyes. Nott knew he was related, of course, but Nott delighted in dragging things out for as long as possible. He knew as well as Severus did that there was something off about this Potter’s sudden appearance—there was a reason he’d decided to approach the new student during dinner, after all—but instead of getting the information he needed efficiently, he was going to use his favorite tool: faux-ignorance. Nothing delighted Nott more than making his victims say embarrassing things themselves out of frustration at Nott’s refusal to understand hints.

Potter, though, didn’t seem to recognize Nott’s tactic. He was too busy looking at the Gryffindor table, something complicated and wistful in his eyes. How had he even been sorted into Slytherin? Everything he felt was plain in his face. He was going to be eaten alive.

“Yeah,” Potter said. “My cousin.”

“Cousin!” Nott said. “Wow. You’re the same age and everything, huh? Must have been nice to have that, growing up. All my cousins are babies, family parties are always a complete bore.”

Potter dragged his gaze away from the Gryffindor table and looked at Nott. For a long moment, he just stared and Severus realized, to his surprise, that he couldn’t actually read Potter’s emotions as clearly as he had been able to before.

“I wouldn’t know,” Potter said at last, with enough bite to it that Nott’s friendly facade cracked a little, eyes widening. “Pretty sure he never knew about me.” Severus blinked. What was he—? “Nobody likes to talk about the family bastard, you know?”

Nobody gasped or pointed, but Severus could feel the ripple of shock that went through their part of the Slytherin table. He bit the inside of his cheek as he marveled at Potter’s sheer stupidity. He would never have been able to conceal this, of course, but he could have at least kept it secret until the end of _dinner_. Bastards were almost as taboo as squibs among purebloods; if one was unlucky enough to have one in the family, no one _talked_ about it.

Nott withdrew from Potter now that he’d gotten the information he’d wanted. His smile was wide and cruel. He knew, just as he’d known all those years ago when he’d exposed Severus’s dirty blood, that he’d drawn a target on Potter’s back. No Slytherin would talk to him now or befriend him. Nott couldn’t have stranded him more thoroughly if they’d set him off in a rowboat without oars. What was worse was that Potter didn’t even seem to realize he’d given Nott the paint he’d needed to draw the target; he was still watching Nott with a defiant tilt to his mouth as if daring Nott to say something. Nott could, of course, and every Slytherin there wouldn’t say a word; but Nott was smart enough to know when he’d beaten someone.

Severus wanted to be glad about Potter’s hurried fall from grace—at last, a Potter getting what was coming to him!—but a little worm of sympathy persisted. He knew what it was like to be dismissed and scorned for nothing more than misfortunate of who your parents were. It was a lesson he’d learned long before ever coming to Hogwarts. Potter or no, Severus despised seeing it happen to someone else.

“Well,” Nott said. “I’m sure you’ll have a ball of a time in Slytherin, Potter.” His laughing eyes said exactly how likely that was going to happen. Potter blinked, disconcerted. He’d doubtless expected more of a frontal attack, but that wasn’t Nott’s style. “I’ll leave you to your dinner.”

Nott withdrew. He was practically beaming as he rejoined their group at dinner and he exchanged a friendly shoulder bump with Parkinson. Potter, who had watched his retreat with a furrow between his brows, met Severus’s eyes as he turned away. Severus froze under their scrutiny. They were really an extraordinary shade of green, just as bright and vivid as Lily’s. He’d never met someone with eyes like that other than her.

Something trembled in Potter’s expression for just a moment but then Potter was turning away, back to his food. Severus frowned at his bent head, more out of sorts than he liked to admit. But, he reminded himself as he bent back to his food, Potter wasn’t his concern. As long as he didn’t follow his cousin’s example, Severus would be content to simply ignore him as he ignored everyone else in his year and that was all there was to it.

* * *

The Slytherin common room was crowded when Severus wandered in. He’d tried to put the matter of their new student to the back of his mind during dinner, preoccupying himself with his dinner and his book as he waited for Potter’s little band of merry men to finally piss off back to their quarters. It had proved surprisingly difficult; Severus found his mind drifting back to him as he descended into the dungeons.

Severus was one of the last Slytherins to arrive. Several heads went up as he entered. Severus froze under the collective attention but most of the students looked away again immediately, muttering. Severus looked around and realized that almost all of Slytherin was gathered. Unusual. Slytherins weren’t, by and large, group people like Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs; the common room was accepted as largely seventh-year territory and the younger years usually did their studying and socializing in their own rooms. Severus frowned.

It wasn’t until the room went silent that Severus realized someone else had stepped through the entrance behind him. He turned and met the green eyes of their newest housemate directly.

Up close, Potter was annoying good-looking. He had the same clear, dark skin and smooth jaw that his cousin did, though his features were less square and more angular. When he met Severus’s gaze, he jumped. His eyes—that bright and almost unnerving shade of green—widened. Severus had the odd feeling that Potter _knew_ him somehow. He narrowed his eyes. Had he been in contact with his cousin somehow? But Potter had seemed assured that James Potter wouldn’t know anything about him. So how did Potter recognize him? Severus knew that Lupin had stayed behind this break, as he usually did. Perhaps he’d said something? Severus braced himself for some kind of comment, prepared to snap back immediately. He already let one Potter run roughshod over him, he wasn’t about to roll over for another one.

But after an uncertain look, Potter just sidled around him without a word. Severus was oddly discomforted and he turned to watch Potter’s retreat with a frown. Was he just waiting for a surprise attack later?

Potter was ignoring all the Slytherins watching him the same way he’d ignored the students in the Great Hall, making a beeline for the stairs that led to the dorms. Severus could have told him it was futile; sure enough, before Potter got even halfway across, someone stepped in his way. Severus’s eyebrows rose. He’d expected someone to take control of Potter’s interrogation, but he hadn’t thought it would be Lucius Malfoy.

Malfoy was the king of the seventh years and, as such, the undisputed leader of Slytherin. He’d always largely ignored Severus, which Severus recognized as its own kind of mercy. But if he was the one taking control of needling answers from the new kid, the seventh years must be very interested in Potter. They hadn’t been that much further down the table than Severus from Nott and Potter’s little talk and even if they hadn’t heard it directly, one of their younger year lackeys would have told them. What possible interest could a pureblood like Malfoy have in the Potter bastard?

Severus’s curiosity was too strong. He stayed to watch.

“Hello there,” Malfoy said, extending a hand.

Potter stared at it. He looked like he had when he’d run into Severus—wan and wide-eyed, clearly spooked. Severus wondered if James Potter or Remus Lupin had told him about Malfoy too or if he’d heard his own rumors. Lucius Malfoy’s reputation wasn’t contained to Hogwarts.

When Potter didn’t take Malfoy’s hand, a titter went through the room. Malfoy waited for a beat and withdrew his hand, managing to convey with the gesture his condescension toward Potter’s rudeness. Potter wasn’t completely blind; he noticed the undercurrent and bristled.

“Lucius Malfoy,” Malfoy said, adopting a gleaming smile. “I just wanted to welcome you to Slytherin personally.”

Something shifted in Potter with Malfoy’s smile. He stopped looking so much like a mouse caught in a cat’s claws and some of the color returned to his face. He adopted an empty, affable smile that he had to know Malfoy saw through. Malfoy showed no reaction to the sudden shift in Potter’s face outside of a slight tick of his eyebrow.

“Harrison Potter,” he said. “Thanks for the… welcome.”

Malfoy’s smile widened. “Of course,” he said. “We want nothing more than to make you feel welcome. Transferring so late in your schooling must be nerve-wracking.”

Potter’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s not that bad,” he said.

“Oh?” Malfoy asked. “Well, family must make it easier of course. It’s a shame you weren’t sorted in the same house.”

Severus wondered if Potter heard all the barbs under those words. It had taken Severus months to get used to Slytherin double-talk, to understand that there were always traps laid under even the most sympathetic words. To anyone not reading between the lines, Malfoy sounded truly sorry for Potter’s misfortune. To the other Slytherins, the message was clear: _you don’t belong here_.

But that wasn’t all there was, Severus thought. Malfoy must have noticed, as Severus had, that Potter was almost deaf to that kind of double-speak. He wouldn’t recognize Malfoy’s subtle insult and it wasn’t like Malfoy to insult someone who wouldn’t notice it. Severus’s eyes narrowed. Why would Malfoy want to make Potter feel safe or comfortable with him? Surely he had no use for a Potter bastard?

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” Potter said. So he hadn’t missed the insult entirely. He stared up at Malfoy. “No need to worry.”

Severus bit the inside of his cheek. Idiot. No one challenged Malfoy, not even the other seventh years. Was Potter suicidal? Or had his years being home-schooled dulled his survival instincts?

“Of course, of course,” Malfoy said, backing off smoothly. His eyes gleamed. “If you ever have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. I’d be happy to help, Harrison.”

Potter’s eyes narrowed. “I might take you up on that, _Lucius_.”

No one was gauche enough to gasp but there was a whisper of sound at Potter’s audacity. Malfoy wasn’t ruffled at all—if anything, the gleam in his eyes deepened. Potter was definitely suicidal, Severus thought. Or perhaps he shared James Potter’s arrogance and thought nothing of the consequences his little defiance would have.

But it wasn’t Severus’s problem if the new boy wanted to get himself harassed.

He watched as Malfoy retreated to his inner circle, accepting the seat next to Bellatrix Black as he due. He was still intensely curious about Malfoy’s game. He’d never seen Malfoy take an interest in anyone so far below his status before. His curiosity itched at him the same way it did when he had a difficult potion to prepare or a thorny transfigurations problem. But he ignored it. Nothing good would come from getting tangled up in Malfoy’s affairs or this new Potter’s. Severus planned to spend this year just like he’d spent the last one: ignoring and largely being ignored by his house.

“Ah, excellent!”

They all turned as Slughorn bustled through the entrance, beaming. Severus sneered but it went largely unnoticed as Slughorn bustled up to Potter, throwing a friendly arm over his shoulder. He didn’t think Slughorn noticed the cool look Malfoy gave him from his seat—despite cultivating a relationship with the man, Severus didn’t think Malfoy thought better of Slughorn than Severus did.

“I see you’ve been getting to know our newest member!” Slughorn boomed. “I expect you all to make Mr. Potter feel most welcome. He’s sure to be overwhelmed after so long at home. Aren’t you, my boy?”

Potter was staring at Slughorn like he had three heads. Severus suppressed a little snort, amused despite himself. _You speak an infinite deal of nothing._ 9 But he'd better get used to Slughorn’s inappropriate friendliness. A Potter was sure to be invited to his Slug Club, Slytherin bastard or no. Severus turned, determined to spend the rest of the night forgetting that Potter even existed.

“Oh, Mr. Snape! Mr. Snape!”

Severus paused. Slughorn was coming toward him with Potter in tow. Severus’s stomach sank. He didn’t have a good feeling about this.

“Mr. Snape, may I introduce you to your new roommate?” Slughorn said, depositing Potter in front of him.

For a moment, they stared at each other. Potter looked oddly stricken again by Severus. Severus wondered with irritation exactly what stories his relative had been filling his head with as he turned to Slughorn. This had to be a mistake. It _had_ to be a mistake.

“I do not have a roommate,” Severus said with cold formality.

Slughorn chuckled. “I know it will be difficult to give up your privacy, m’boy, but I’m sure you’ll adjust!”

Severus’s stomach tightened into a hard knot. No. Fuck _no_.

“The Headmaster—”

“—has assured me Mr. Potter will be rooming with you.” Slughorn’s congeniality was beginning to turn stern even as he continued to beam at the both of them. “He moved Mr. Potter in several days ago, in fact.”

Severus curled his hands into tight fists to help ground him through the sudden overwhelming wash of panic. His eyes went out of focus as he tried to keep his heart rate steady. Had Potter already been living in Severus’s room? What had he done to it? How much had he snooped, how much of Severus’s things had he already gone through? What had he taken or destroyed or—?

“—leave you two to get acquainted.”

Severus barely acknowledged Slughorn’s departure. He focused on Potter, still wan and tight-mouthed, who hadn’t yet said a word. He realized that the entire Slytherin house was watching them over Potter’s shoulder, some more obvious than others. He caught sight of Nott’s smug face and his fingernails broke the skin of his palm. His year-mates had been insufferable about his rooming situation.

This must be like a belated Christmas gift for them.

“Come,” Severus said in his softest voice.

Potter seemed to recognize Severus’s fury; strangely, some of the skittishness drained from him and his chin went up, eyes hardening. But he followed Severus without complaint up the stairs, down the hall. Severus stopped at the door that had once just been _his_ and stared for a long moment at the embossed plaque that now had a _H. Potter_ under _S. Snape_. Not even a year. Dumbledore couldn’t even keep his word for _year_. Severus let out a hissed breath. _Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change._ 10

He couldn’t attack Potter and he couldn’t risk throwing a tantrum where someone could still potentially hear them. No, all he could do was seethe and throw the dorm door open so hard it banged into the wall. Useless but it at least allowed some of that bottled rage out so he wasn’t overflowing with it.

He wanted to go immediately to the hiding spots he’d kept in the room automatically, born out of years of paranoia and his room being searched whenever he went out for long periods of time. He’d roomed with Nott last year and he’d had a nasty habit of going through Severus’s things and trashing them if Severus gave him any opportunity to do so. But he’d have to wait until Potter went out or went to sleep. On the surface, everything looked undisturbed, even his desk. Severus’s eye twitched as he saw a neat stack of books perched on a newly installed desk next to his, a sheaf of parchment pinned underneath them.

A meow.

Severus jumped and looked down. A sleek black cat stared up at him. Its eyes were as green as Potter’s, distinctly unimpressed. Severus felt a vein his forehead begin to throb.

“And what,” he said in his softest voice, “is _that_?”

He turned. Potter had been watching him silently from the door, arms crossed over his chest. Under Severus’s attention, he flushed.

“A cat,” he said.

Severus’s eye twitched.

“And what exactly is it doing here?”

Potter’s eyes flashed. “Well,” he said, so sarcastically that Severus gritted his teeth, “it happens to be _my_ cat, y’see.”

Severus had never used the option to get a pet. He’d never had much of a soft spot for animals that couldn’t be used as potions ingredients and anything he brought home with him over the summer would have probably ended up dead anyway. He couldn’t even imagine his father’s response to an owl or frog in his house.

He glanced back down. The cat didn’t do anything sickeningly cute like purr or meow back up at him or cock its head. It simply stared directly at Severus, eyes narrowed and focused. _Cats look down on us._11  Severus felt disturbingly evaluated.

“She doesn’t have a name yet,” Potter said, sounding less confrontational but still defensive. “She won’t be a bother.”

The cat finally looked away from Severus, meowing at Potter. She took a running leap at him and climbed his robes until she could perch on his shoulder. Potter didn’t react at all, even when the cat began to wash his ear.

Severus badly wanted to hit something. He took several deep breaths and forcefully shoved down his fury and disappointment. He would deal with them later. Right now, he had a roommate to keep in line. He wouldn’t deal with another Nott who tried to run roughshod all over him. He had to set boundaries, put this new Potter in his place. If this Potter was anything like his cousin, Severus doubted it would work but he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try.

“I have rules,” he said, keeping his voice even.

Potter blinked, then frowned. His arms were still crossed over his chest. He looked ridiculous with the cat clinging to his shoulder.

“Rules?” he asked.

“We are, unfortunately, roommates. If we are to coexist, I have rules,” Severus repeated, holding onto his patience with both hands. “First, if you touch anything of mine without my permission, I will make you regret it.”

Potter snorted. “I wouldn’t want to touch anything of yours anyway, Snape,” he said. “But deal.”

Severus waited to hear the same condition repeated back to him, but Potter continued to look at him expectantly. Severus’ eyes narrowed. Did Potter expect Severus to hold to his own standards without agreeing explicitly? How had he been sorted into Slytherin?

“No one else is allowed inside,” he said. “Not any little friends you might make or your _cousin_.”

“My—?” Potter seemed nonplussed and then his eyebrows rose. “You mean James?”

Severus snarled. “ _Yes_. He cannot come here.”

The very thought of James Potter in his room was enough to make his breath shorten. This might not be the fortress it had been for him for the first half of the year anymore, but he wouldn’t let it be breached any more than it already had. He fortified himself. He wouldn’t allow it happen.

Potter shook his head. “Can’t invite him in anyway,” he said, so amicably that Severus began to seethe. “He’d get eaten alive if I tried.”

“Do you agree or not?” Severus asked through gritted teeth.

“You really don’t ever invite friends to your room?”

That wasn’t what Severus had expected him to ask. Thrown for a loop, he answered honestly.

“I don’t have any friends to invite.”

Potter frowned. “What?” he asked, sounding genuinely startled. Merlin. “Really?”

Severus wasn’t about to tell him about Lily. He got enough grief on that score from the other Potter.

“Really.”

“But—“

“Potter,” Severus said with as much patience as he could muster. “I realize you were raised among barn animals, but here in the civilized world there is a hierarchy and I, as it happens, am at the bottom of it. Do you understand?”

“No,” Potter said frankly. “What does that have to do with having friends?”

“It _means_ ,” Severus said, “that anyone associating with me will _also_ go to the bottom and that is something my fellow Slytherins are desperate to escape.”

Potter was silent for a long moment. “They’d really avoid you because of that?” he asked with a strange voice.

Severus frowned at him. “Of course,” he said. He’d made his own bitter peace with it years ago, abandoned his infantile hope that someone, anyone would be brave enough or selfless enough or _like_ him enough to try despite that. He had Lily and that was enough most days.

Potter was silent for a long time. Severus wondered what Dumbledore and the rest had told him about Hogwarts—had he expected some sort of kumbaya sing-along where everyone in the house held hands and loved each other simply because the Sorting Hat had dictated they live together? Perhaps some houses were like that—Hufflepuff came to mind—but Slytherin wasn’t. The strong and the powerful were the leaders. The weak and the outcasts, like Severus, were left to fend for themselves. Severus was just grateful that being ignored meant he was not also attacked by his housemates; outside of his own year, they were largely content to just leave him alone, unlike some Gryffindors Severus could name. But Potter didn’t need to know all of that.

 _My load of woe is incommunicable to all but me._ 12

“All right,” Potter said at last. “No one else allowed inside. Got any more rules?”

“What I do is my business, what you do is yours,” Severus said. “We may be housemates and, Merlin help me, roommates, but we are not anything else to each other. Anything I do is of no interest to you, understand?”

Potter snorted. “It’s not as if you do anything interesting, Snape.”

“Keep it that way,” Severus said. He would have to keep a close eye on Potter in the next few weeks. Potter might not find anything he did that interesting, but if he went running to tell his cousin… Severus had no idea how close they were but just because Potter said they’d never spoken didn’t mean it was true. Unbelievable as it was, Potter _was_ a Slytherin.

“That’s it?”

Severus blinked. “What?” he snapped.

“Don’t touch your things, don’t let other people in, don’t pay attention to what you do,” Potter recited, ticking off the rules on his fingers. “That’s everything?”

Severus nodded. Potter considered him for a long moment. For someone who had been, up to that point, disturbingly open, he was surprisingly difficult to read. There was something ticking away behind those green eyes, but Severus would be damned if he could figure out what it was.

“All right,” Potter said. He stuck out a hand. “Deal.”

Severus looked from Potter’s hand to his face. What in Merlin’s name…? But Potter didn’t lower his hand or look away. He stared straight at Severus, direct and fearless. _Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful._13   Severus had no idea what to do with that. Gingerly, he reached out and took Potter’s hand, giving it a quick, hard shake. Potter had a warm, callused palm. Severus dropped it as quickly as he was able.

“Excellent,” he said.

“Good,” Potter said. He reached up and picked the cat off his shoulder, setting it down on his bed. “I’m going to go take a shower, Snape.”

He marched out. Severus stared at the closing door then at the cat, who twitched its whiskers at him and rolled over, apparently going to sleep. Severus let out a long, even breath and shook himself. He could worry about Potter’s strange behavior later—he might as well put Potter’s absence to good use and check to make sure none of his things had been disturbed.

And if a part of his mind was circling around Potter’s bright eyes and strange ticks and direct gaze while he rooted out his secret things, there was no one but the cat around to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **harry:** exists  
>  **snape:** suspiciousegg.jpeg
> 
> next chapter will back to harry's pov with some cameos from illusive family members. also some of you might be going: "uh but lucius graduated by the time severus was a fifth year???" and you'd be right!! there's a reason lucius & other slytherins who should already be gone are there and it'll come up sooner or later. 
> 
> 1"tulips" (sylvia plath)  
> 2 _the brothers karamazov_ (fyoder dostoevsky)  
>  3"murder in the cathedral" (ts eliot)  
> 4 _jane eyre_ (charlotte bronte)  
>  5attributed to washington irving  
> 6"tulips" (sylvia plath)  
> 7 _oedipus rex_ (sophocles)  
>  8 _jane eyre_ (charlotte bronte)  
> 9 _merchant of venice_ (william shakespeare)  
>  10 _frankenstein_ (mary wollstonecraft shelley)  
>  11attributed to winston churchill  
> 12 _oedipus rex_ (sophocles)  
>  13 _frankenstein_ (mary wollstonecraft shelley)


	4. disorientation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time travel is confusing. Harry struggles to adapt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter took forever. i was struggling with some general writer's block and the last few months have been really busy for me at work, so i also just haven't had the time or energy to write. i'm hoping the next chapter will be up a lot faster since i have parts of it written already. 
> 
> also re: criticism since there was some discussion about that in the comments of the last chapter. i don't mind hearing your thoughts if you didn't like something, but i'm writing this story on my own time mostly for my own amusement. it's fine if you don't like something, but i'm not going to change the story or my writing style to suit any individual reader's tastes. i'm not trying to be mean but i honestly am not interested in being told i need to change my writing style to make it 'work' for a reader. i'm writing this for me and i'm writing it as i like bc it's fanfic and it's fun.
> 
> this isn't a callout!!! i just want people to be aware of my feelings on this, that's all. i have really appreciated the feedback and the response on this story and i do appreciate all of your comments and kudos a lot.

The funny thing was, Harry thought as he trudged down to breakfast, he’d thought he was prepared. He’d spent the week leading up to the students coming back mentally bracing himself for his new housemates, going over his story so many times that Harrison Potter had actually started to feel like a real person instead of a mask Harry was being forced to wear. He’d figured when he’d gone to dinner last night that he was as ready as he could ever be and felt prepared, if not confident.

Which all got shot to shit immediately, of course.

As Harry slipped into the Great Hall—mostly empty at this time of day—he was still trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong. He’d known Slytherins in his own time. He’d had pretty intimate dealings with them between Malfoy and the various attacks by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. But these Slytherins weren’t anything like the ones he’d known back in his own time. He thought about Lucius Malfoy’s cool smile and glittering eyes and shivered. No, Draco wasn’t anything like his father. It made Harry feel a little ridiculous for ever considering him a nemesis. What had Draco Malfoy ever even done to him? Spread a few rumors, made a few nasty buttons?

Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t stop at buttons.

Harry hadn’t been able to get a good handle on his own year-mates either. Nott was a slippery one, all smiles and a kind of commiserating compassion that made Harry instinctively wary. The way he’d immediately gone for Harry’s secrets last night had been unnerving. The others had been content to sit back and allow Nott’s interrogation and Harry hadn’t gotten a good impression beyond a mess of faces. He would have to pay more attention, he thought as he began to butter his toast. Harry doubted Voldemort would recruit fifth years but it was clear in the papers that the First War had already begun. There were shady reports of mysterious deaths, a rise in a lot of laws about muggleborns and magical creatures… No one had called the Death Eaters by name yet but Harry figured it was only a matter of time. He couldn’t remember when the First War had started in earnest but he gave it a year at best. Maybe less.

Which meant some of the students around him would soon be his enemies. Harry wasn’t the Boy-Who-Lived in this time but if someone figured out that he wasn’t actually Harrison Potter, a harmless half-blood transfer… Harry didn’t want to think about what Voldemort would do to get details about the future. Harry would need to be vigilant, keep his guard up at all times.

He sighed as he put ketchup on his eggs. It sounded exhausting. Harry had thought he’d gone through the ringer before when everyone in school thought he was a murderer or a madman or just an attention-seeking liar, but this was worse. At least before Harry had had his friends standing by him, people who believed him and loved him. Now it was just him. Harry wasn’t even sure he could trust _Dumbledore_ and that alone made him feel even more isolated. How was he supposed to stay safe and find his way home when he had no allies to turn to in this strange time? Harry hadn’t been so alone since he was living with the Dursleys and every day was a battle.

Harry glanced up, mouth full of egg and toast, as someone else sat down and stiffened when Snape met his gaze with a sneer. Harry ducked his head back down and swallowed his food, containing his instinctive urge to sneer back. Snape was going to be the hardest part. He’d always hated Snape but Harry knew he was smart and suspicious. Harry had plenty of experience working around inquisitive teachers who were too interested in his business, but Snape had always been the most difficult one to talk around or distract that Harry had ever had, even with all of his practice. Snape saw too much, kept too close an eye. Harry had both hated and been thankful for Snape’s continuing delusion that Harry was an attention-seeking spoiled brat; it meant that even with those eagle eyes, Snape never really saw the truth.

Harry’s connection to James probably already had Snape wary. Harry would have to be doubly careful with Snape. Which wouldn’t normally be a problem—it wasn’t like Harry _wanted_ to be around the greasy git—except they were bloody roommates. Harry would have to watch himself in his own room as well as out in the halls of Hogwarts. It sounded exhausting.

Harry glanced at the Gryffindor table, still largely empty. Would he have had as many problems if he’d been properly sorted? He couldn’t imagine what his dad was thinking about all of this. Would he have embraced Harry as a long-lost cousin if he’d been in Gryffindor? Or would Harry have been even more disoriented and isolated being among people who should love him but couldn’t tell him from a stranger?

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry jumped. Professor Slughorn raised his eyebrows, a jovial smile on his face. Harry didn’t trust it for one minute. Slughorn reminded him of Lockhart even if there were far fewer requests for photos or uncomfortably intimate hugs. Something in Slughorn’s eyes was _greedy_ as if Harry was something to be collected. Harry offered back a cautious, tight-lipped smile, reminding himself that Harrison Potter had no reason to distrust a teacher. No teacher had ever tried to kill Harrison Potter before.

“Bit jumpy, eh?” Slughorn asked in a conspiratorial tone. “Did you sleep all right?”

How would Harrison Potter react? Harry shrugged, trying to look chagrined and small. “Bit strange to sleep anywhere but home,” he said as sheepishly as he could manage.

It worked. Slughorn laughed, clapping Harry on the back. “You’ll get used to it, my boy! Now, here you go, your schedule! Bit full, it is, so if you have any trouble don’t hesitate to come knocking on my door!”

Harry took the schedule and glanced down, eyebrows rising. It was full but not more than his fifth-year schedule before had been. To someone who’d only worked at home it must be intimidating, Harry thought, so he tried to react accordingly.

“Of course, Professor,” he said.

Slughorn smiled at him. “I’m sure you’ll settle in just fine.” He glanced down the table. Harry followed his look to Snape who was ignoring his breakfast in favor of a thick book. “Everything all right with Mr. Snape?”

Harry stammered. “He’s—we’re fine.”

Slughorn frowned. “Genius, that one,” he said, sounding oddly disgruntled about it. “But anti-social as they come. If you have any trouble with him, come to me and we’ll get it all sorted out. I’ve had to break up more than one fight Mr. Snape was involved in.”

Harry stared at him. He couldn’t imagine Snape fighting. Attacking someone with his words, sure, but a brawl? Even in Dueling Club, Snape had seemed cooly detached from the whole proceedings, barely doing the minimum to get Lockhart disarmed. And against the Marauders he’d… Harry winced. He’d been disarmed so totally and quickly that there hadn’t been a chance for him to fight back at all. But hadn’t Remus said Snape attacked his dad all the time?

“I’ll be sure to do that, sir,” Harry said.

Slughorn beamed at him again. “A credit to your good name, Mr. Potter,” he said. Harry didn’t like the way he’d stressed _good name_ or his greedy eyes. “Impeccable manners! I look forward to seeing what you can do with a cauldron.”

Harry barely withheld a snort. Slughorn wouldn’t be looking forward to it that long. Slughorn waddled away and Harry snuck another glance at Snape. It was odd to think of Potions without Snape there, looming over him and insulting every last thing Harry did. Snape was a mean-spirited, spiteful man, but Harry had grown used to him during his time at Hogwarts. In this land of the unfamiliar and disorienting, even Snape’s insults would have been a little comforting. A return to normalcy.

“You read a lot,” Harry said before he could stop himself.

It took a long moment before Snape’s head rose, so slowly that Harry thought he couldn’t believe Harry would dare to address him. He sneered.

“I find that reading helps stimulate the intellect,” he said. “Sadly, I doubt you have enough to bother.”

He stuck his nose back in his book. Harry eyed his bent head and went back to his eggs. Still, he couldn’t deny that he felt a little better; that was no Professor Snape, but being snapped at in that voice with those eyes glaring at him was familiar enough that he almost felt more at home.

* * *

Harry was startled to find himself almost bored by school for the first time in his life. Hogwarts had never been difficult for him outside of Potions—he’d always been mediocre at school, able to keep his grades up but never excelling at Hermione’s level. He didn’t mind that so much even if he’d begun to wish he could have better grades so that his pipe dream of being an Auror could feel a little more attainable. But he was stunned to find that he had no trouble with the Cheering Charms Flitwick had them practice during their Charms class that morning or the pop quiz on different kinds of Bubble Charms he’d administered during the second leg of the double class. Harry had never once been so calm during a quiz. As he stood to file out, half-listening to the chattering students around him, he wondered if that was how Hermione always felt in class; confident, collected, knowledgeable. Harry still wasn’t particularly happy about having to re-do half of his year—or the reason that he had to re-do it—but he had to admit it was nice to not worry so much in the classroom.

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry stiffened and felt the back of his neck heat as several students looked over, Nott among them. Nott offered Harry a cheery wave and a smile that bordered on a smirk. Harry bit the inside of his cheek hard and turned to face Professor Flitwick.

“Yes, sir?” he asked.

Flitwick was just as cheerful as Harry remembered, though his hair was much blonder now. He grinned up at Harry.

“Stay for a moment, would you please? I’ll write you a note for Professor Slughorn.”

Harry’s stomach twisted into anxious, writhing knots. What had he done? He nodded without really realizing he was doing it. Flitwick waited until all of the students had filed out of the classroom before he reached over and patted Harry’s arm.

“No need to look so concerned, Mr. Potter,” Flitwick said, sounding amused. “I just wanted to congratulate you on a job well done!”

Harry blinked. “A—what?”

“I’ve been at Hogwarts a long time,” Flitwick said. “Longer than most other than Minnie and Albus, I expect.” Harry blinked again. _Minnie_? He couldn’t mean McGonagall, could he? “We’ve seen a few transfers during my time, but none of them have adjusted so well so quickly. Why, your Charms work is quite advanced! Was your mother adept at Charms?”

Harry shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “I guess?”

Flitwick beamed. “Well, she certainly taught you well, young man! Now I just wanted to let you know that you are more than welcome to come knocking at my door any time. It’s quite a leap, coming to Hogwarts after so long being taught at home and I’d quite understand if you feel burdened by the coursework.”

Harry was taken aback. He didn’t think he’d ever really spoken with Flitwick one-on-one like this. He knew Flitwick to be funny and kind, a patient teacher who didn’t mind a bit of fun in class, but Harry hadn’t expected the kind of compassion Flitwick was showing to him now, a virtual stranger. His throat tightened.

“I’ll be sure to do that, Professor,” Harry said.

Flitwick patted his arm again. “Well then! We’d better get you going before Horace wonders what I’ve done to you.”

Harry watched, a little astonished, as Flitwick’s quill whipped out of his pocket, hurried over to his desk and scribbled out a note. Sometimes magic really amazed him. The note glided over to Harry and he grabbed it out of the air. Flitwick let him go with a smile and a wink and Harry was still smiling a little to himself as he began to the descent to the dungeons.

The path to the Potions classroom was familiar enough—Snape hadn’t changed it when he’d become a teacher. Harry was wondering if his newfound academic confidence might actually extend to Potions when he heard a clamor down the hall. He paused, brow furrowing, instincts suddenly on high. His wand was in his hand as he crept forward, peering around an old suit of armor.

His stomach dropped so suddenly he felt like he was experiencing vertigo.

“—reading such nasty, _nasty_ stuff.”

“Probably gets off on it. You do, don’t you, Snivvy?”

He watched, dazed, as his father and Sirius paged through a book, ignoring the bound and struggling Snape they’d dumped on the floor. Harry wasn’t sure what was wrapped around him—it didn’t look like rope—but it kept his arms and legs pinned and provided a gag that kept his mouth firmly shut. Snape’s eyes were dark, furious pits as he glared up at Sirius and James.

“Look at this,” Sirius said, holding the book like it was something moldy and disgusting. “ _A person can only be held under Cruciatus for five minutes before they begin to experience nerve damage_.” He glanced down at Snape with a sneer of disgust. “Studying up before you practice, Snivvy?”

“No, I think you’ve got it right, Padfoot,” James said. “He seems like he’d get off on this kind of nasty stuff. Bet he doesn’t let _Evans_ see him reading these kinds of books.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You’ve really got to get over her, mate,” he said.

“I’m not into her,” James said, so petulantly that Harry winced. “I just don’t see why she’s all hot and heavy for a greasy faggot like Snivellous here, that’s all. I know you’re not packing anything down there—” he gestured and leered a little, “—so what’s your secret, Snivvy?” He leered again, more deeply. “Love potions?”

Snape struggled against his bonds. Harry’s hands were curled into such tight fists that he knew there would be deep indents in his palms from his fingernails. There was a distant, low buzzing in his ears as if the hall was full of bees. But he couldn’t move. He could barely breathe as Sirius knelt in front of Snape and dangled the book in front of his nose.

“I think we’ll be taking this from you, Snivellous,” he said. “It’s an act of common decency, isn’t it? Keeping this kind of _indecent material_ out of your dirty hands.” There was something wild and dark behind his eyes, something that got Harry’s back up. He recognized that look. He’d seen it in Piers’s face, in Dudley’s, in Uncle Vernon’s. Harry knew before he did it that Sirius was going to lash out with a kick that made Snape fold in on himself. Harry’s wince was so strong he knocked into the wall.

James sighed. “What is it with you and muggle fighting?” he said, exasperated but not scolding. “We’ve got wands, don’t we?”

“It’s not as satisfying,” Sirius said, grinning down toothily at the still wheezing Snape. “I like to really see him feel it, you know? Want to give a try, Prongs?”

James sniffed. Harry was startled to hear him sound so much like Draco Malfoy. Hadn’t Malfoy also turned his nose up at muggle fighting?

“No thanks,” he said. “I don’t want to touch him any more than I have to. That grease might rub off on me.”

“Better get to Potions,” Sirius said. “Old Sluggy gets ever so aggrieved when we’re late.” He kicked Snape again and Harry heard a strangled grunt through the gag. Harry’s breathing was getting faster and it was getting more and more difficult to keep standing there. He wanted to run. “Too bad Snivellous here won’t make it. Sluggy will make him clean cauldrons for _days_.”

They sauntered down the hall. Harry pressed back behind the suit of armor, waiting until their footsteps disappeared before he could summon the nerve to step out. Snape was struggling against his bonds but he stilled when he saw Harry. Harry was pretty sure if he hadn’t had the gag in place, he’d be spitting something truly nasty—Snape was almost much, much worse when he felt humiliated, Harry knew that from experience. Of course, in the past Harry had never felt like Snape’s humiliation was justified, just the result of being too prideful and arrogant. This time… Harry gulped as he knelt down next to Snape.

The bonds weren’t rope but some kind of hemp. Harry frowned at them. He couldn’t see any kind of tie and if these were magical bonds, he was reluctant to cast something that would make it worse. Not for the first time, he missed Hermione. She was so encyclopedic that he could have just consulted her on if it was okay to use a _Finite Incantatum_ or not. Snape was attempting to mouth something behind his gag, but considering the fury in his dark eyes, Harry doubted it was instructions on how to free him.

Harry cast around for something sharp so he could cut the bonds the old-fashioned way, but Hogwarts had always been very well-kept; there wasn’t a hint of debris. But the cleanliness gave him an idea. He snapped his fingers and Snape flinched.

“Can I please get a house elf?” Harry murmured, not sure if it would work. He’d never tried to call a House Elf that wasn’t Dobby before.

There was a moment when Harry resigned himself to having to go find a window to smash or something and then a soft pop. The house elf bowed low, a neat little skirt and pressed blouse making it look more professional and tidy than any house-elf Harry had seen before.

“Squeaky, at your service, Master Potter,” she said. “What is the problem?”

“My housemate is in a spot of trouble,” Harry said, gesturing to Snape. Squeaky’s eyebrows rose. “I was wondering if you would help me get him out of… whatever those are?”

Squeaky considered him. “You’re asking?” she asked. Harry blinked at her tone.

“Yeah,” he said, nonplussed. “If you can’t do it, could you point me in the direction of something sharp so I can cut him out myself?”

“Asking again,” she murmured. Harry didn’t know what was so odd about that; the Hogwarts house elves were hardly like Dobby, who’d belonged to vile people who never once said anything to him that wasn’t an order or a taunt. Surely they were treated fairly here? “I can release him, Master Potter.”

“Oh,” Harry said, relieved. “Thank you so much.”

He really hadn’t looked forward to searching the castle for something to cut Snape’s bonds with. Squeaky considered him again then turned to Snape and snapped her fingers. The bonds disintegrated into ash, which Harry had never seen before. He had never really thought about house-elf magic, though he benefited from it as much in this time as he had in his own. He only had a moment to spare for his curiosity, though, as the moment Snape was free he had Harry pinned to the wall, snarling in his face. For someone so pale and skinny, Snape was surprisingly strong.

Snape gnashed his teeth in Harry’s face, wild-eyed. “You insolent little—”

Snape was dragged back by some invisible force and Harry slumped down. Squeaky looked between them sternly.

“There will be no fighting,” she said.

“We won’t,” Harry managed, still trying to catch his breath.

Snape simply glared, mouth tight. But he made no move to hurt Harry again and Squeaky released whatever hold she had on him. She offered him a nod and a deeper bow for Harry.

“Thank you again,” Harry managed before she disappeared with another look and a snap of her fingers. Harry turned to Snape, irritation winning out over his shaky shock. “Any reason you decided to attack me for helping you?”

“I don’t need your _help_ ,” Snape hissed.

Harry frowned. “You wouldn’t have gotten out of those ropes by yourself.”

Snape marched forward and Harry flinched back, but Snape only poked him hard in the chest, using the inches he had to tower over Harry. Harry was reminded a little of potions classes, where Snape also had used his height to intimidate. Only it was a little different now that Snape was his age and Harry had just seen him struggling and beaten. It seemed a lot less like a sick power play and more like a defense mechanism.

Harry could remember, with sometimes startling clarity, the anger he’d felt when he lived with the Dursleys. Every day, he had been mocked or hurt and sometimes he’d become so angry that it had been almost too much for his body to handle, like a cup being overfilled. He’d needed to let it out somewhere. So he’d talk back to Vernon even when he knew it would get him the back of Vernon’s hand or he’d lash out at Dudley even though he knew Dudley would make him miserable for it.

Snape wasn’t quite the same, but it was close enough that Harry could recognize it. He knew that fury in Snape’s eyes.

“Leave me alone,” Snape said. “Keep your pity and your grand heroics to yourself.”

He whirled and bent for his bookbag, slinging it over his shoulder. His back as tense. Harry considered calling out after him, saying _something_ , but he had no idea what to say. He wasn’t Snape’s friend. They barely knew each other. Snape had dealt with the Marauders—surely he didn’t need Harry to intervene, shove his nose in Snape’s business. Harry had always been angry when another kid would try to protect him from Dudley, back in those early years when there were still kids who hadn’t been scared stiff of Dudley yet.

But Harry couldn’t help but feel… Not responsible. But something close, something that made his stomach tighten when he thought about the ropes that had tied Snape down, the way Sirius had so nonchalantly hit him, the way they’d just taken Snape’s stuff. He didn’t want that to happen to anyone, not even Snape. No one deserved that.

Harry took a deep breath. He was going to be late for Potions but he couldn’t really bring it in himself to be sorry about it.

* * *

Harry _was_ late to Potions, but Slughorn waved off a punishment, laughingly saying that Harry would learn to navigate Hogwarts eventually. Harry had never been given a reprieve in a Potions class before and kept expecting Slughorn to turn around and take house points.

He ignored the pointed looks and whispering. They had the class with the Gryffindors and Harry could feel James Potter staring. Before what he’d seen, he would have been aching to stare back, to drink in as much of that familiar-unfamiliar face as he could, but right now even thinking about James made him feel almost ill.

The only open seat was, to Harry’s horror, next to Snape. Snape spared him a truly vicious look, but even he knew better to protest. Harry slipped into his seat with a sense of impending doom. This was going to be a terrible Potions class, he _knew_ it.

Slughorn had been lecturing when Harry slipped in—he picked off where he left off as the class settled. Slughorn liked to talk more than Snape, who had usually given them a rapid-fire explanation and then waved the recipe on the board. Harry appreciated Slughorn’s more thorough approach but Slughorn kept getting distracted in the midst of his own lecture, going off on rambling tangents that had little to do with the potion at hand. By the time he’d finished talking, they had a little under half the hour to finish their potion.

“You can find the recipe on page 214!” Slughorn called out as students began to stand up to get their ingredients and cauldrons prepared. “Pay special attention to the number of stirs!”

Harry heard Snape grumble under his breath and was unsurprised when Snape didn’t stand like the rest of their classmates. Snape gave Harry a look.

“How is your potions ability.”

Harry flinched back. Snape was intimidating when he shouted, but he was at his most dangerous when he got quiet. That demand had been little more than a whisper and Snape’s eyes were deadly. Snape had looked and sounded a little like that in the future when Harry had seen that horrific memory. Despite himself, Harry felt a stab of sympathy for both Snapes; he’d hated anyone pitying him too, he’d just been less vicious about it. Snape, who Harry had always thought despised weakness, must have been writhing in humiliation that Harry had seen him so low, even when Harry was nothing more than a troublesome new student to him and not the son of his nemesis.

“Terrible,” Harry admitted quietly.

Snape snorted. “Typical,” he said.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I can handle the ingredients,” he said. “Just tell me what to chop and grind and you can do all the finicky parts.”

Snape gave him a deeply distrustful look but they didn’t have time to argue about it; if they didn’t start their potion soon, they wouldn’t have time to finish it.

Harry recognized the Blood-Replenishing Potion from his own fifth year. He’d struggled with it because of the precise timing the ingredients had to be dropped in and the confusing switches in stirring order. Harry frowned down at the neat set of instructions in their Potions textbook. He was sure the newt’s eyes had to be crushed, not dropped in whole. And the beetle wings were supposed to be ground into a fine powder, not chopped. Had the recipe changed in twenty years?

He wondered about saying something to Snape, but he figured that since he’d admitted how bad he was at Potions, Snape probably wouldn’t listen to him anyway. He started with the ingredients as Snape set up the water to boil, fussing over the flame until it was steady. When he turned back to Harry, his eyes roved over the gathered ingredients and narrowed.

“Don’t slice the beetle wings,” he said. “Get out your pestle and grind them.”

Harry blinked, disconcerted. “But the instructions—”

“Are moronic. Crushed wings make the potion more potent. The newt eyes also need to be crushed in order to lessen the side-effect of nausea.”

Harry stared. “How do you know that?”

Snape sniffed. “Newt eyes help ease stomach pain, but only if they’re crushed,” he said as he reached out and plucked the chopped Betony. “Beetle wings lose potency when chopped, especially when mixed with ingredients like ginger root or betony. They should be crushed instead in order to affect the potion thoroughly.”

Snape had never been half so informative in his actual classes. Harry had known Snape was a potions master, but he’d largely thought it was a title he just had because he taught potions at Hogwarts. It was disconcerting to realize Snape _did_ actually know his subject as well as McGonagall or Flitwick knew theirs. Harry glanced back down at the recipe. It was odd that the differences he remembered were the ones Snape was talking about.

“Potter!” Snape snapped. “Get working on that Hellebore!”

Harry jumped and hurried to work, putting the matter to the back of his mind. It was surprisingly easy to work with Snape—he was kind of like Hermione, a take-charge control freak whose orders just had to follow. Without a looming professor or Slytherins out to mess up his potion, Harry was almost relaxed in potions class for the first time since he was a first year.

Their potion turned the requisite blood red five minutes before the bell was supposed to ring. They were the first ones done, Harry noted with pleasure. Even with Hermione,that didn’t always happen; Draco Malfoy was many things, but he was actually pretty good at potions and he tended to be the first one done. Snape leaned back, surveying the potion carefully. He didn’t smile, but he looked a little less angry than he had before, Harry thought.

Slughorn came tromping over to their table, jovial smile already in place.

“All done, boys?” he asked, leaning over their table. “My, my! What a lovely color!” He stuck a finger in and beamed. “Perfect thickness as well. Very nicely done, Mr. Potter!”

Harry stiffened. What? “Professor—” he stammered.

Slughorn tipped him a wink. “There’s no need to be modest, Mr. Potter!” he chortled. “Your uncle is one of the leading potioneers on the market right now, after all! It must run in the blood.”

Harry look desperately at Snape, but he was stone-faced. What in Merlin’s name was happening?

“Sir, really—”

“Full marks, of course,” Slughorn said. “I look forward to more remarkable work in the future, Mr. Potter!”

He swept away without even a word of praise for Snape. Harry stared after him, feeling like he’d been slapped. He’d never thought he’d dislike getting praise in potions, but he’d always imagined the praise would come for work he’d actually done. Harry and Ron had both ridden on Hermione’s coat tails once or twice in a group project—Hermione seized control so thoroughly it was sometimes impossible not to—but the professors had never once mistaken who to give their praise for the successful projects. Harry had never once taken credit for Hermione’s hard work and genius.

He looked at Snape, deeply uncomfortable. But Snape only sneered back.

“I’ll speak to him after class,” Harry said. “He can’t seriously think…”

“As a lowly half-blood with no connections to speak of, my potions ability can only be mediocre at best,” Snape said. “Of course should I actually make anything of myself, Slughorn will swear until he’s blue in the face that he mentored and nurtured me.” He seemed darkly amused by the thought.

“You can’t be _okay_ with that! He didn’t even say anything to you and you did all the work!”

Snape flicked Harry a dismissive look. “He’s a flatulent whale riding on the coat tails of people greater than him. What do I care what he thinks of me?”

Harry stared at him as he scooped up some of their potion in a bottle to be tested for official grading, then vanished the rest. He couldn’t understand it. Hermione would have been in tears if a professor hadn’t acknowledged her hard work, especially if someone else had gotten the credit for it. And Snape had never seemed particularly happy about being overlooked in the future.

“Don’t blow up your tiny brain trying to figure it out, Potter,” Snape sneered.

“You honestly don’t think it’s unfair?”

Snape gave him a sardonic look. “Nothing’s fair, Potter.”

That was _bullshit_ , but the bell rang before Harry could say so and Snape was out of his seat and out of the classroom before Harry could stop him. Harry gathered his own materials more slowly, mind still whirring. That cynicism was pure Snape—hadn’t he told Harry how unfair life was before?—but Harry still couldn’t reconcile Snape’s ease with his lack of recognition.

“Hey.”

Harry jumped so hard he knocked his knee against the table. His heart in his throat, he looked up and froze as he came face to face with his father.

Merlin, they really did look as alike as everyone said. James had a wider face and glasses that fit and his hair was clipped short, but Harry could have easily been a twin instead of a son. Or a cousin, as James thought he was. Harry winced and ran a hand through his hair.

“Hi,” he said.

James offered him a wry smile. “This is wicked awkward, isn’t it?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Harry agreed.

“Ifigured we should talk,” James said. “Cousin to cousin or something. I dunno, I’ve never had a cousin before.”

Harry winced, trying not to think of Dudley.

“That sounds fine,” he said. He couldn’t quite forget James’s disdain in the corridor. “Um. When…?”

“How about tomorrow?” James asked. “Lunch? We can try to figure out… things.”

That sounded stilted and ominous. Harry realized Sirius was standing behind James’s shoulder with a distinctly unhappy look on his face. When he noticed Harry looking, he sneered and Harry’s heart sank.

“Sure,” Harry said. “That sounds fine.”

“Great!” James ruffled his own hair and offered Harry another smile. “See you then, cuz.”

Sirius began complaining even as James pulled him out of the classroom. Harry only caught _a Slytherin_ before they were gone. Harry sighed and finished picking up the rest of his materials. It was only his second class of the day and he was already exhausted.

Time traveling was _terrible_.

* * *

Dinner was a trickier affair than Harry had ever before.

He’d decided the moment he met them yesterday that he didn’t want anything to do with the Slytherin fifth years. But as he went to take a seat with some nervous-looking second years, Nott shouted his name and patted the open seat next to him with a challenging smile. Harry had always been weakto challenges. Gritting his teeth, he’d changed course and taken a seat next to Nott, trying to ignore the way the other boy jostled into his space.

“Good first day, Potter?” Nott asked. “Heard you impressed old Sluggy in Potions.”

Harry glanced at Snape, but his nose was buried in a book. He was only eating absent-mindedly, in a way that reminded Harry of Hermione.

“I didn’t do much,” Harry said, choosing his words with care. He didn’t trust Nott or his easy smiles. “Slughorn seems to think I’ll be some kind of prodigy because of my uncle.”

“Ah,” Nott said. “Sleekeazy, right. Sluggy must be salivating over getting to add you to his collection.”

“His _what_?” Harry asked, appalled.

Nott grinned. “Nobody told you? He’s got this club. If you’ve got the right family or enough talent, you get to go and make nice for an hour, make some connections. Nothing our Sluggy likes more than his connections.” He sounded fond, but Harry knew better than to trust it. “A Slytherin Potter is his wet dream come true. Especiallyif you’re good at potions.”

“I’m not,” Harry said. “I was partnered with Snape. _He_ did all the work.”

Maybe if he told enough people, Slughorn wouldn’t do that uncomfortable praise anymore. But Nott just rolled his eyes and gave Snape a disdainful look.

“Of course he did,” Nott said. “Nothing makes that mudblood cream his pants like potions.”

Harry flinched before he could stop himself. Nott turned a wicked grin on him.

“Oh?” he asked. “Are you one of those sensitive Light wizards, Potter? Don’t like the sound of the big, bad M-word?”

“It’s a terrible name to call someone,” Harry said.

He didn’t have the history with it that Ron or Hermione did—he hadn’t grown up knowing it was a slur and it couldn’t really be hurled at him the way it was at Hermione. But he trusted Ron’s judgment and he’d heard it slung around by enough Death Eaters—or Death Eaters in training like Draco Malfoy—that it disgusted him. Nott guffawed. He reached out and pinched Harry’s cheek hard. Harry shoved his hand away, scowling.

“Such naivete!” Nott crowed. “But I guess you mudbloods have to have some kind of solidarity, huh?”

“I’m a half-blood,” Harry said.

“Muggle blood poisons everything,” Nott said and there was less joviality in his voice. Harry stiffened. “You can’t be half and half, Potter. You’re either mudblood or you’re not. Old Snape knows that, don’t you?”

Harry looked over and realized Snape had lifted his head from his book at some point. His mouth was a thin line.

“Of course,” he said in a low, slick voice.

“I mean, just look at him,” Nott said. He sounded cheerful again. “Prince blood, pure as they come, but you add muggle shit to it and you get our Snape. Ugly and weak. Isn’t that right, Snape? Can’t even fend off a few witless Gryffindors.”

Snape’s eyes flashed but he didn’t begin tearing Nott to shreds like Harry half-expected. He just inclined his head, turning back to his book in silence. It was disconcerting—no, not just disconcerting, it was _wrong_. Why didn’t Snape fight back? Words had always been his weapon of choice but he still just let Nott say those things about him. Harry glanced around but none of the other fifth years were even paying attention.

“Oh, they all know Snape’s worthless,” Nott said, noticing Harry’s distraction. “Only good for potions, really. Even mudbloods have to have a talent, I suppose.”

Harry opened his mouth. He had no idea what he was going to say, but he was interrupted before he could so much as get a word out; someone tapped him on the shoulder. He whirled and the Hufflepuff standing behind him flinched back, eyes wide.

“Professor Dumbledore wants to see you, Potter,” she said. “Right away.”

Harry frowned. “Did he say why?”

“Something about a family matter. Better hurry.”

Harry stood. He had no idea what could be so urgent that Dumbledore had to call him out in the middle of dinner, but he was a little relieved he didn’t have to sit there and listen to the poison Nott was spewing. Nott waved cheerfully as Harry hurried away. Snape still hadn’t looked up from his book.

* * *

Dumbledore was already sitting at his desk when Harry arrived.

“Sir?” Harry asked. “Is something wrong?” Hope gripped him. “Did you find—?”

“I’m sorry to report no changes, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said. “I have found some promising books but they are rare enough that it will take some time to procure them. No, I’m afraid I have summoned you on quite another matter. It concerns Mr. Snape.”

Harry frowned. “Is this about what my—cousin and Sirius Black did to him?”

Dumbledore blinked. “You already know, then?”

“About how they attacked him in the corridor? Yeah, I _saw_ it.”

“ _Attacked_ him—? No, I’m sorry, that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“It’s not? Then what—”

Dumbledore’s door slammed open. Harry jumped, hand going to his wand. A woman stood in the doorframe. She barely came to Harry’s shoulder and wore ragged robes that had seen better days, but she had fierce, dark eyes and such sharp features that Harry almost thought he could cut himself by looking at her. She seemed oddly familiar. She gave Harry a long, searching look, heavy brow furrowing. She had a bruise under her right eye that was beginning to fade.

“So this is him, then,” she said and speared Dumbledore with a look. “My son nearly dies and you break your word to room him with another _Potter_?”

Clarity hit Harry like a slap in the face. No wonder he hadn’t recognized her right away—the last time he’d seen this woman, she’d been a weeping mess in Snape’s memory. She couldn’t have looked more different right now, eagle-eyed and straight-backed, glaring at the both of them.

“Harry Potter, may I introduce Eileen Snape,” Dumbledore said wearily. “Mr. Snape’s mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's my personal headcanon that slughorn and snape didn't get on. i don't necessarily think it's bc snape is a half-blood, but more because snape isn't really interested in being pleasant or likable to people like slughorn. sharp readers will also recognize the reason harry's memory of the potions recipe doesn't match the textbook version.
> 
> i debated for a long time how nasty i wanted to make sirius and james. i don't think they're always that nasty to snape, but i do think they'll do it whenever they can get away with it. after all, they don't seem to hesitate to string him up in swm; that makes me think they've done it before. 
> 
> re: nott; he's a hardline purebood extremist and his ideas about half-bloods are not the norm even among death eaters. (i imagine half-bloods aren't preferred, but i also think that most purebloods probably see them as preferable to muggleborns.) his views are part of the reason snape has problems with his own year. and there are reasons snape doesn't fight back against nott. 
> 
> next chapter will be another harry pov. eileen wants answers and she's ready to fight for them. kudos and comments always appreciated!


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